


Chasing the Forlorn

by The_Black_Stag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Drama, Lovecraftian, Multi, Mystery, Mythology References, Psychological Horror, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Black_Stag/pseuds/The_Black_Stag
Summary: A history forged from lies, a cursed lineage revived by a prophecy, and terror itself rousing from its ageless slumber. The Lost Cities of Alexander awaken with the birth of green-eyes and forked tongues. A Lovecraftian AU.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

_The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown._

* * *

**Cafe Surplomb béni, Pyrenees Mountains, Southern France**

_The sun's dying down already?_ Delilah thought as she flipped the book shut with a huff, shielding her eyes from its sputtering rays. _It would be criminal, trying to study like this._

Her pale nose wriggled as she squinted out towards the bejeweled sky, eyeing the winged Abraxan horses that slowly lapped the snow-kissed faces of the mighty Pyrenees mountains. _At least the view makes up for it_.

A heat of a different kind hit her side, and she glanced over across the balcony to find bright green eyes watching her curiously. _Or perhaps watching the sunset?_ The scars on her face burned beneath his gaze, and subconsciously her fingers brushed against the pink rivers of calloused tissue to hide it from view.

She glanced away quickly as the young man leant forwards, eyes still stuck in her direction as he scratched away in a book of his own.

Deciding to take a gamble, she drew a breath and cleared her throat. "I don't believe I am part of your revision, Mister Potter."

A soft snort of amusement met her claim. _So he was looking at me..._

Her eyes fell over the rolling fields below, climbing up and then landing on the beautiful castle of Beauxbatons. It looked so surreal with its gentle waterfalls and flowing cyan banners. It looked unreachable... a dream that she couldn't touch.

She would have to return there soon before curfew; although she was loath to break this moment, to step away from this lull in time.

She turned, finding Harry now mulling over the horizon. His features were marred by a light frown and his teeth worried softly at his lips. It was a look she was quite familiar with.

He was focused, pondering something. _He's handsome_ , she conceded not for the first time. _Awfully distant however,_ came the inevitable critique.

His eyes flickered minutely to her, and his fingers adjusted at the tip of his quill.

 _Her_ eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sliding off the balcony railing, she approached. Much to her mild irritation, he was ignoring her now.

Delilah took her time poking through his notes and books, impressed to find that he had finished his work quite some time ago. His notes were even precise in a manner eerily reminiscent to her own.

She smiled at that. It had taken _forever_ to break him out of his chicken-scratch habits when they first started all those years ago.

Humming nonchalantly, she edged further around and finally peered over her shoulder to peek at the book he was scribbling in, and her eyes fell upon… herself.

He was sketching a portrait of her.

He had captured her likeness in strokes of ink both thick and thin, and she found herself slightly embarrassed to see that he had copied down her 'pose' as it were. She sniffed, half-amused and half-scandalised that he had portrayed her in such a... _pouty_ way.

"You're getting better," she breathed, before slowly frowning. "Though that doesn't look like homework to me…"

The quill paused in his hand. "There's an opportunity there, though I think it's best to let it lie," he replied with a smile.

Her brow perked up in response, egging him on.

Harry coughed lightly into his hand, "I wish you had let your hair down," he yawned. "Trying to copy that silly bowtie in your bun drove me crazy."

Rolling her eyes, Delilah poked softly at his shoulder. "Some women may find that creepy, you know?"

He hummed softly, eyes on his work. "But not you?"

"Does it look like my wand is out?"

He laughed, and a faint smile took her lips as she paid the portrait another glance.

She couldn't help but find it pretty…

The tip of the quill moved towards her face in the portrait, and her smile suddenly slipped from her face. Her hand fell on his shoulder without her really meaning to. "Wait-" she said quickly, and Harry froze.

Swallowing, Delilah glanced up to the sky once more. The stars were beginning to bare, and the pastel glows had faded. "It's late." She winced, _obviously…_ "We should be leaving."

Curiously, she felt him stiffen ever so slightly beneath her fingers.

Harry meanwhile exhaled softly, knowing exactly what awaited back home. He shook his head. "One minute."

The quill began to move once more, and her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Harry… _don't_ …"

He paused once more.

"You'll ruin it." The whisper barely left her lips, but he heard it nonetheless.

His gaze swung over to her, and once again she felt her scars burn. She didn't look away this time, however. Eventually, he sighed.

"I've got one too, you know."

She scoffed at him. "Mine's much harder to hide than yours is." She then laughed bitterly. "At least yours is famous."

"Mhmm, fame and the only thing I can remember my mother by. Lucky me."

He regretted the words the moment he said them.

He let out a damned breath as her eyes went wide in hurt. "That's… not fai-"

"I know," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have said that." At the lack of a reply, he shook his head and scooped up the book he had been doodling in. Approaching, he held it out towards her. "Even still, mind hanging onto this for me? It's got some pretty sweet notes in it."

She glared at him for a while, before sighing as he began to wiggle the tome childishly. A soft breath escaped her nose as she took it from his hands.

Delilah paused. _It's still warm…_

Seeing his eyes on her once again, she gave him a half-hearted sniff. "Are you ready?" Despite the question, she didn't wait for a reply before reaching into her blouse and withdrawing a simple pocketwatch.

"Hold on, I think I forgot some-"

She pressed it into his chest. "Potter estate, heir's chambers."

A blue glow pierced out from the gaps in between their skin, and the portkey charm took hold of them both before vanishing, pulling them along with it.

* * *

**Unknown location, Cotswalds, England, Great Britain**   
**Earlier…**

The dry leaves crunched underfoot, the dragonhide boots coming to a stop at the edge of the woods. Shadows flickered in the periphery as bodies moved through the trees, their forms gliding like ghosts amidst the scattered beams of daylight as they closed in on their target.

A figure flinched as one of the rays glanced him in the face, his pasty features contorting into a pained grimace.

"Fret not, the moon'll be up in a moment, Mister Graham," said a voice from the side, the Midwestern American accent out of place in the British air.

Mister Graham's head turned slowly to regard the hired mercenary with a yellow, _slitted_ eye. He didn't respond, instead taking a moment to listen.

_Thump-thump… thump-thump…_

The corner of his pale lips twitched in amusement, revealing a flash of ivory teeth. "I don't think it be me, the one who's currently 'fretting'."

_Thump-thump..thump-thump..thump-thump.._

Smile widening ever so slightly, Mister Graham's gaze turned forwards, examining the regal looking manor that sat on the hill above them. A low, soft purr left his chest. An inhuman noise that had the mercenary beside him stiffening.

"Is this your first job, wizard?" Mister Graham asked quietly, pulling his gloves tighter across his fingers.

He heard the man shuffle awkwardly beside him. "I… no, sir." The American's voice was painfully polite, as if he were picking his words carefully. "Unless you mean with your… 'organisation?' Because the-"

A hand rose, bringing the rambling to a sudden halt.

"The stakes are quite high," Mister Graham stated softly. "The Lord Potter is inside… the 'Red Buck' they call him."

"Yeah, the 'Red Buck of Godric's Hollow'," the wizard snorted. "Presumptuous lunacy, if you ask m-"

" _Lunacy?_ "

The wizard froze, feeling the icy breath against his earlobe.

Mister Graham smiled as he stepped around the wizard, his boots somehow making nary a noise now. "Perhaps," he allowed, coming to a stop on the mercenary's opposite side. "But my family and I… we prefer the term, _murderer_." He whispered the word, as if it were some secret that ought not to be shared. "But all is well, for we shall see a debt repaid."

As if on cue, a light of a different kind struck across his face, refracting off the wild yellow of his irises. Mister Graham glanced up, watching as the full moon rose above the manor on the hill. He licked his lips.

"Are the tracking charms on our friends in place, little wizard?"

His sensitive ears picked up the creaking _stretch_ of the muscle fibers in the hired wand's neck as he nodded.

"Y-yes, of course." The wizard cleared his throat, retrieving a letter from his coat pockets. "They all have their invitations, and yours is here, sir."

Off to their side, on the main road at the bottom of the hill, the cracks and flashes from numerous apparitions and portkeys could be heard and seen.

A sallow hiss rang out through the air, and a glimmer of moonlight caught the wicked edge of the dagger drawn. "The guests have arrived," Mister Graham noted. Taking the proffered letter, he gestured to the manor. "Shall we?"

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

He swept through gaudy halls of blacks and reds, wine-red coat flapping softly in his wake. His countenance was stoic, the lines and weathered nature detracting from what once would have been looks that turned heads.

The hallway opened up into a lobby, prepared for festivity with long tables full of snacks and drinks. Servants tarried back and forth, attempting a last minute preparation check.

The sight of a pale disk in the sky in his peripheral had him glancing out of the nearest window, and a wand slipped into his calloused hands. " _Tempus_."

He sighed in resignation. _It's time_.

' _Crack!_ '

As if on cue, a creature of diminutive stature appeared before him accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs. It glanced up, bowing its head. "Master James," it said simply, voice rasping like a file on steel.

"Pebbles," the man greeted, his hard eyes softening as he looked at the faithful house elf that had long served his family. "Are the preparations for the event in place?"

'Pebbles' nodded slowly, his old muscles already weary with the motion. "All is in order, my lord. The manor is prepared to entertain on your command."

James nodded softly, before his tone grew grave. "And what of… the other preparations?"

Pebbles smiled a toothless smile as he reached up and pat his master's knee reassuringly. "My answer remains the same." He sucked in a slow breath. "Do not fret, your guests are arriving soon and your head must be cleared of distractions to greet them," he chided softly.

James nodded, a sigh escaping his chest as he flashed one of his rare grins at the old elf. He felt tense, now that Pebbles mentioned it. _I need a drink-_

A slightly shaking hand extended a tumbler, an amber liquor splashing around within.

Blinking in surprise, he reached down and accepted the offer with a wry grin. "There's a power in understanding people." He laughed, bringing the brandy to his lips.

The elderly creature cocked its head, before nodding with flapping ears. "Good advice." It shook a gangly finger. "Whoever told you that must be wise indeed."

James' lips curled up in a smile around his glass. " _You_ told me that, you old coot."

The elf seemed surprised. "Truly?" Receiving a nod, it seemed to frown. "Must have been a long time ago."

A melancholy air fell over James as he handed back the now empty glass. He offered the elf a sad smile. "It was," he lied.

There was a soft crack as his house elf disappeared.

Straightening his admittedly gaudy attire, James wiggled around uncomfortably. Truth be told, it had been a while since he had worn anything so… flowery.

Most of his attention after the war had gone to his work. It felt so awkward now, wearing watery silk and high-thread count satin…

Was it strange that he had come to _prefer_ the hard leather and the biting buckles of the battlemage armour issued to field-operators of the ICW?

The old elf's uncanny timing emerged once more as music began to play throughout the manor, distracting him from his reveries. Sourceless, but all the more alluring for it. The lighting shifted, with magical flames expertly placing themselves to cast an array of dancing shadows and flickering firelight. The grandiose doors on the far end of the hallway suddenly creaked open of their own accord, and James found himself struggling to form that old, dazzling smile his mother had him perfect for situations such as these.

The first of his guests stepped through the doors, his portly belly bouncing as he tittered on with a companion that seemed… just a _little_ out of his league.

"Ahh my honourable Lord Potter, such a marvelous pleasure to see your return to our fold!"

James' smile faltered if only for a slightest second as inwardly, he groaned at the boisterous noise. God did he wish Lily was here… she had always managed to prop him back up when his willpower waned.

He strode forwards to greet the influential Wizengamot member. "Mister Montflosse, It's… yes the pleasure is mine," he replied awkwardly, wincing internally as he shook the man's hand. He glanced at the large man's escort, and for a second, her brown eyes flashed as green as Lily's when she smiled at him.

They were filled with _hurt_. The woman's face twisted into his wife's, her features warping into expressions of scorn and _betrayal_.

He shook his head as it threatened to split apart. Dragging his gaze upwards once again, he was relieved to see it was just another pretty woman, one that was eyeing him worriedly.

"-e you alright, my Lord?"

Clamping down on his thoughts with a vice-like grip, he suddenly found it far easier to flash a smile. It perhaps helped that he was looking at _her_ , instead of the tub of lard standing _beside_ her. "Of course. Forgive my manners." He extended a hand, meeting her eyes with a smile. "I see you've become an incredibly lucky man, Douglas." The momentary lapse in his presentation was seemingly dismissed as she beamed favourably at him, meeting James' hand with her own while her companion laughed his booming laugh.

Around them, high-profile identities began to flood in through the doors and James tried his best to make quick work of them. As was custom, he took his time greeting the most notable and influential of them all.

However, this was a practice long since left unpolished. What once would have come as easily as breathing, was now a dangerous game of chance as he picked his words before uttering them.

It was frankly a gift from the heavens when he was finally allowed a break, a lull in the mayhem of drinks, laughter and revelry. Slipping away from the crowds with a curiously apt level of stealth, he allowed his guests to mingle as he waited for the bulk to arrive.

' _It would be nonsense to greet them all individually, James. Of course, not to mention unbecoming of a Potter_.' His father's words echoed harshly in his ear. He hadn't forgotten that nugget of decorum, at least.

He took the moment of reprieve to slip into his chambers and into the attached bathroom. Stumbling over to the sink, he splashed his face with cool water, washing the memory of his wife's eyes from his head.

The last time he had done something like this was… _just after our wedding._

She had been beside him for every step he took that day, providing a quiet but strong measure of comfort.

Now he had to do it alone.

He glanced into the mirror, and promptly recoiled as he saw not James Potter, but someone _else_ staring at him.

Some _thing_ else.

Toxic green eyes flashing from the darkness…

…a touch of soft scales, a lulling hiss and a lurid heat.

Something snapped. A tether somewhere in the back of his mind failed, allowing a flash-flood of overwhelming shame and rage to take over.

' _CRASH!_ '

The shattering of glass and the tinkles of shards scattering across the ground broke him from his stupor. Chest heaving with breath that didn't seem to quell the lung, James glanced down at his feet.

His own chocolate brown eyes stared back at him from the hundreds of mirror fragments on the floor. It was an accusing look, one that stilled his flailing mind.

The anger faded as quick as it had come.

_Merlin… can't you keep it together for one night, James?_

Snarling softly, he flicked his wand into his hand. Slowly, as if time had been reversed, the hundreds of little pieces of glass and ceramic slowly floated up, reforming the expensive mirror as if he hadn't just sent his fist into the middle of the damn thing.

Another flick and a muttered ' _Episkey_ ' saw the blood on his hands vanished and the small cuts messily healed.

"This is not the time, Potter," he mumbled softly to himself as he straightened his creased robes. He had been doing that a lot, lately. "You're in the middle of an operation… get a grip you fool."

Taking another deep, shaky breath, he turned and swept away from his bathroom.

His feet carried him to the landing that looked out over the event hall of his family's manor. Guests of all various rich and or influential make mingled below him. They seemed eager to see their host, to see a once pivotal figure returning to the high society of Britain.

To see James Charles Potter, Godric's Hollow's infamous 'Red Buck', Britain's own fiercest war hero and vanquisher of the Dark Lord.

' _Vanquisher…'_ He resisted the urge to scoff. _What a load of bollocks._

The memory of a lightning bolt shaped scar and bright green eyes made him smile sadly. If only they knew how much of a _hero_ he truly had been that night.

Stepping up to the bannisters and summoning a drink from one of the floating trays down below, he stood silent for a moment. It didn't take long for people to notice the figure lording above them.

The conversations began to die away as guests shuffled to glance up to their host, a vast array of expressions levelled on the man.

Several faces stood out amongst the crowd, each standing in their assigned places. His eyes fell on them in sequence, taking in the subtle nods each gave him. There were half a dozen in total, disguised amongst the masses. Battlemages of the International Confederation of Wizards, handpicked from his own regiment of men and women.

He knew them all well. They would not fail him.

He nodded, satisfied that the preparations were in place. Pebbles had delivered, as always.

The music dimmed as he cleared his throat. "Welcome," he greeted. "It's been a while, huh?"

A light round of polite chuckles and smiles passed. A few faces twisted into sneers and scowls, obviously expecting something _more_.

James restrained the urge to shake his head at them as he looked out over the crowd, recognising some of the familiar faces. "People come and go, but their memories stay." He paused, stewing on it for a moment. "That's what my mother always said, bless her memory." He raised his glass in a toast, and the crowd below hurried to follow suit with the sudden gesture. "It took me a while to figure out what she meant by that. So allow me to add to her quote by saying that, so too, do birthdays." He offered them a warm smile. "I've missed celebrating quite a few, so let's make this one a night to remember, hmm?"

He raised his glass in a toast once more, and as the cheers began and applause rang out, his eyes locked onto a single figure moving below. He watched from over the brim of his glass as he sipped.

She moved like a _ghost_.

He lost her at times, despite his elevation… despite her exotic look that drowned out the rest of the room.

Olive-skinned, dark-haired and seemingly ageless in beauty, James did not recognise her.

He had already found one.

Picking out the rest of them came a little easier.

They _all_ acted like her, like wraiths gliding in and amongst the crowds. It was unnerving, just how much in their element they seemed. Something dark took seed in his mind as suspicion began to blossom.

This wasn't the calibre of enemy he had expected.

The slaving ring he had been hunting down for the past three months had been bold, and brutish. Dismantled from three countries and after the ICW assault on their safehouse in Romania, the English branch was all that remained.

This was an entirely new breed of foe that differed from their international brethren. Had he made a mistake in allowing them too close? The invitations he had sent out to be intercepted had been done so in a surprisingly subtle manner he didn't expect. _That might have been the first clue._

They were here now, trapped within his wards like he had planned, and yet...

His eyes locked onto a slim gentleman emerging from where one of his men had previously stood, his form gliding as he seeped back into the crowd. He felt something sickly hit his stomach as his battlemage failed to reappear.

Eyes widening slightly, he glanced over to a different location where another of his men should have been awaiting his signal.

Nothing.

One by one, he scanned each location, his heart sinking as his eyes found no familiar faces. His grip was tight on the bannister, the knuckles turning white.

Very quickly, he found that he had an answer to his question.

Yes.

Yes, he had made a mistake.

His distress was masked well, but he had spent too much time simply watching from above as faces had begun to glance up at him inquisitively. Numbly, he stepped away from the bannisters.

 _Keep it together…_ The mental mantra in his head played like a broken record.

He made for the stairs, and in doing so caught sight of the olive-skinned woman who had somehow manoeuvred herself at the base of them. She was making idle conversation in her striking accent, seamlessly engaging and disengaging with any that came across her.

James sucked in a breath. _Merlin's balls_.

He descended, feeling ironically like he was walking into a lion's den. As if on cue, she turned, a radiant smile on her face.

A dangerous chill shot up his spine as he made his way towards her, a weak smile already on his features as he reached forwards to take her hand.

Her skin was _cold_.

He looked up to stare into beautiful blue eyes that nearly drowned him in their intensity. There was a predatory look in them, swimming beneath the surface.

" _My Lord_ …" she almost whispered, her tone thick with something… _carnal_.

A sigh echoed through James' mind.

_Fuck._

* * *

They appeared in a blue flash, the artificial light overpowering the auburn glow of the candles for just a moment.

Delilah stepped back, tucking the watch away. She didn't know why, it would be useless after tonight after all…

 _Sentimentality is a fickle thing…_ she mused.

"From the state of you, you'd think you were moving to another planet."

The remark had her glancing up as Harry walked over to his attached bathroom. She wondered whether it was worth making a face at his back. "It's the Flamel mansion, Harry Potter," she replied instead. "I may as well be."

A soft snort of amusement sounded out from the bathroom. Ignoring her student, she glanced out of the large windows framing the bed. The moon had begun to rise.

"Harry." A distracted grunt answered her from behind the door. "It's… _it's getting late_ ," she nearly whispered, almost as if not wanting him to hear.

Truthfully, she didn't _really_ want to leave yet.

Flipping open the book in her hands, Harry's book, her eyes fell upon herself once more. _I should have let him draw the scars,_ she thought. _We would still be back there…_

Apparently, he _didn't_ hear her as the door to the bathroom remained closed.

Sighing, she ambled over to the fireplace crackling in the room, warming her hands as she glanced around.

She had been here plenty of times before, but even still, it was so strange. _He doesn't have a single keepsake._ The room, while admittedly laudy and gorgeous with its motifs of black and red, was bare. _Maybe he has no friends to send him letters or presents, like me?_

She scoffed immediately after the thought passed her mind. _Hmph, unlikely_.

Her eyes fell back to the book and the illustration upon it. "A lie though isn't it?" she mumbled. _Who gave me this, after all?_

"What's a lie?"

Eyes widening in alarm, Delilah turned around to berate the boy for eavesdropping before abruptly freezing. "Oh."

Harry cocked his head at her, doing up the last button on his silk dress shirt. "Oh?"

Delilah looked away immediately, suddenly finding the dresser of utmost importance. _Good lord…_ Calming her mind, she turned back to him, composed… more or less. "Why are you dress-"

Harry suddenly clapped his hands, and the candles in the room dimmed, leaving only the crackling fire for light. "You've got everything?"

Nodding, Delilah stepped forwards, eyes subtly still roving over his form. _What on earth is he up to now?_

He opened the door to his chambers, and Delilah was met with the faintly buzzing hum of… music? Her brow perked up in a question. "Is… is that _jazz_?"

Harry shook his head ruefully. "James has been obsessed with it recently."

A small, amused smile spread over her lips. "An English pureblood listening to jazz…"

Harry barked out a laugh, extending his arm. "You do realise my mother was a muggleborn, right?"

The question had her pursing her lips as she linked her arm with his instinctually. She couldn't remember when that had started, only that it had been a silly joke at 'nobility's' expense at some point.

She glanced up at the walls of the hallway they were walking through, eyeing the portraits and paintings. "It slipped my mind," she replied finally. It wasn't a lie. It was _hard_ to imagine Harry as anything other than a pureblood.

 _Although he's_ _ **nothing**_ _like the fools at Beauxbatons, s_ he thought almost vehemently.

A frown crested her features as she suddenly noticed something. "Why are there no pictures of you and your mother?" she asked curiously.

Harry cocked his head, glancing up at the frames in turn. "What do you mean?"

She gestured to the photos and pictures framed on the walls of this more private hallway. The late lady Potter could be seen smiling and laughing in some of them, either with or without her husband and friends. In none was she with Harry.

Their pace slowed as Harry glanced back at the ones they had passed. "Well of course there is…" he trailed off, frowning.

Bafflingly, he couldn't find a single one…

He shook his head slowly, "I was only a year old when she died," he explained.

The more she looked, the more _off_ Delilah felt.

"Besides, most of these were taken long before her death." Harry reasoned, albeit his frown only deepened. "Though there really isn't a single one here, is there?" The question was redundant.

' _and the only thing I can remember my mother by…'_

The thought pierced through Delilah's mind like a spear. Quickly, she stepped a little closer, tugging on his arm. "I'm sure your father has some," she assured quickly, stifling her unease. "The lord Potter is likely a little too busy to be fiddling around with decorations and old photos."

Harry snorted softly as they resumed their pace. "He's too busy for _most_ things, Delilah."

The statement hung in the air, stagnating and growing more bitter than he had meant it to.

He could feel Delilah stealing glances at him, her grip on him tightening subconsciously as she struggled to find an apt response.

Harry nudged her gently, before she was able to. "Tell me about it," he urged. "What was the Flamel estate like?"

Whatever had been plaguing her mind earlier was seemingly thrown to the wind as she let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh Harry, it was incredible…" she trailed off, unable to summon the appropriate words. "It seemed like I had stepped into another world."

Harry hummed, eyes still flicking to the walls and to every picture frame they passed by.

"If only I could take you there to see it," she said dejectedly. "Neither I nor the other apprentices are allowed guests or visitors, at least not during the entry examination period."

"Which will be a breeze for you, I'm sure."

She snorted derisively at that. A moment passed before she realised Harry was staring at her in exasperation. "What?"

"You think you have a chance of failing?" he laughed.

Delilah glared at him, "You realise that it is being conducted by _the_ lady Perenelle _Flamel_ , don't you?" she asked incredulously. At Harry's resulting scoff, she clicked her teeth in irritation. "It would be foolish to underestimate this-"

"-it would be foolish to underestimate _you_ , you dolt." She squinted at him in response, and Harry sighed. "She'll be looking for some measure of confidence, not just aptitude."

"Oh truly?" she said in mock awe. "Did she tell you that herself when you two sat down for tea?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You've been preparing for this for the last year," he reasoned quietly, not giving into her baiting. "At the expense of the quality in my tutoring, of course."

Her head snapped towards him, a mild glare on her features. "Very funny, Harry." She shook her head at the sight of his twitching lips. "Although your intelligence _has_ certainly lapsed as of late, perhaps you're right?"

His smile only widened, "Weak," he chided. "Not going to hold up against the other apprentices with that kind of banter," Harry joked.

He received a haughty sniff in response.

The silence that followed had him glancing over to see Delilah frowning, worrying at her lips nervously. "Beauxbatons was… not the friendliest place," she murmured demurely, her fingertips reaching for her scars once more. Her eyes turned to him. "It's not going to be a pleasant six-months."

His eyes narrowed at the thought, and she immediately sighed.

"Woe is me," Delilah teased, shaking her head at her behaviour. "I talk far too much."

"You do," Harry said. "But it doesn't bother me."

A fond smile found its way onto her lips. _I know._

The music began to grow louder, and with it, a low hum. Harry coughed into his hand, smothering a smirk. "A new professor is coming to Hogwarts, I hear," he mentioned off-handedly.

Delilah glanced up at him, brow perked. "The dark arts position, I assume?" At Harry's hum off assent, she snorted. "That doesn't seem like news, from what you've told me of that boorish school."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "What is it with you and Hogwarts?"

"Your education _should_ have been at Beauxbatons," she huffed. _With me._

"Mmh, James already has it rough for stepping out of the political world as it is," Harry said, nodding to the nearby bust of a griffon that bowed to them as they passed. "The Daily Prophet would have had a field day with him had he sent me to Beauxbatons."

Reaching the end of the hallway, they finally turned out of the family wing and towards the heart of the building.

Delilah turned up her nose at the answer, unable to find an apt reply. "Well, I hope this new teacher is more qualified than the last," she said eventually. "I had so carefully devised your study plan, and she had barely touched on any of the curriculum material!"

Harry snorted at the outburst. "Your 'carefully' devised study plan had me learning fourth year material in my second, Delilah."

The young tutor scoffed in response. "In Beauxbatons it would only be considered _third_ year." At Harry's quiet groan, she glanced at him suspiciously. "You did follow the plan, yes?"

"Of course," Harry replied easily. "Only because I knew how much of a tongue-lashing I'd get if I didn't."

Her brows narrowed. "The eradication spell," she stated, ignoring his comment as she pulled them both to a stop. Drawing her wand, Delilah flourished it in an extravagant motion and a dense cloud of smoke suddenly spewed forth from its tip to smog up the hallway. "Show me."

Harry gave her a wry look. "I left my wand in my room-"

"Harry."

Sighing, the young wizard drew his wand. He flicked it forwards, " _Deletrius_."

A wave of force like an invisible hand suddenly pushed through the smoke, sucking the substance into it as if it were a vacuum before winking out of existence. Harry stowed his wand with a wince, eyeing the _somewhat_ ripped up carpet before them.

Delilah pursed her lips, studying the results with a critical eye. "That is _not_ the correct motion for that spell." She gave Harry a somewhat irritated look. "Must you brute-force your way through everything?"

Moving once again, Harry snorted in response. "It worked, didn't it?" At Delilah's glare, he shrugged. "The wand motion doesn't feel right anyway. It feels weirdly _sticky_ , if that makes any sense," he muttered.

"It makes next to none," his tutor replied, brow perking up in curiosity. "It's the way that spell is _supposed_ to be cast."

Harry hummed neutrally in response, silently disagreeing with her. _It's sticky,_ he argued inwardly. _I know it is._

They walked for a small time, the soft music, _and_ the mysterious hum, growing louder with each step. It was only when it began to dip and swell, to ebb and err, did Delilah glance at Harry.

Curiously, he ignored her.

They turned the next corner, and Delilah was suddenly hit with a wave of heat. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, as well as perfume.

A rather loud, boisterous chorus of laughter echoed from down the hall, and Delilah's confusion escalated.

It sounded awfully like...

Her jaw dropped open ever so slightly, and her eyes snapped to Harry and his handsome attire. _Oh, you little fiend!_

"Mister Potter, my dearest pupil." Her voice was clipped, spoken through tight lips.

Harry bit down on his lip, suppressing the urge to smile. "Mhmm?"

She drew a deep breath. "Just _what_ is going on?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The sounds were distinguishable now. The chatter of a _large_ crowd, supplemented by smooth music, made its way clearly into her ears.

A servant suddenly appeared from ahead of them, having rushed up the stairs. His hands patted frantically at the wine spilled over his front as he hurried for the restroom.

Delilah pulled them to a firm stop, and Harry made a sound of realisation. "Oh, did I tell you that it was James' birthday today?"

Delilah's deadpan stare nearly broke his facade as he coughed.

"Apparently he wanted to throw a party for this one."

"Would you like to die now, or perhaps later?" Delilah asked, disentangling herself from him in order to fold her arms. A snort broke through her student's efforts to hold it back, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, funny is it?"

Harry tried to stifle himself as her hand reached for her wand. "Don't hurt me too badly now," he said with a grin. "You'll feel bad about it later."

"Oh I'm sure I'll manage." She said with a scathing smile. She then gestured at herself furiously. "Harry, do you see what I am wearing?" she hissed.

"I have eyes, believe it or not."

She sneered, "How do you expect me to walk out there like this?"

"With your legs, I would presume." Her wand came free, and Harry laughed as she began to jab him with it. "Oh relax," he said, placing his hand over hers and pushing the prodding instrument away gently. "You didn't think I'd really do that to you, did you?"

Delilah drew back, confused as he drew his own wand once more. It flicked twice in his fingers to the left and right, bereft a _proper_ motion _and_ , to her surprise, an incantation.

As if someone had poked a bubble but managed not to pop it, the air around them wobbled and quivered. She recognised it as the notice-me-not charm, however... modified.

Acting on a hunch, she stepped backwards, a small ' _ah'_ of understanding slipping from her lips as she watched the barely perceptible bubble in the air stretch around them. Stepping forwards, she grabbed Harry by his collar and gently pulled him forwards a few paces, watching as the bubble moved with them.

"Merkwürdig…" she whispered, watching the magic ebb.

Harry stowed his wand, a smug sort of smirk on his face. "Mhm."

"May I ask how long did that take you to perfect?" Delilah asked neutrally.

"Bout' four months."

She snorted.

"Oh shut up."

Her lips twitched as she took his arm once more. "If you had-"

"I swear, if the word 'Beauxbatons' leaves your mouth one more time…"

Delilah pursed her lips, deliberately looking elsewhere. She chuckled as Harry sighed. "It seems you have stalled your demise, Mister Potter."

"Lucky me," Harry replied dryly, leading them fully into the light now.

Even as Delilah laughed, he could feel her unease as they stepped onto the stair landing fully. Below them, nearly a hundred faces milled about, their faces flushed from wine and champagne. For the first time in fifteen years, Harry could scarcely believe how _full_ the Potter manor seemed.

For as long as he could remember, it had been a near desolate place.

Now, it just felt crowded.

Curiously, or perhaps not so… Harry found himself preferring the latter.

His eyes caught the scene of an influential Wizengamot member, _including_ his idle wandering touch and the resulting strained smile of the woman he conversed with. A glance to the other side had him observing as a stoic looking man sipped at his drink, eyes narrowing darkly as another whispered into his ear and then gestured to a nearby individual.

Harry found his mood souring rather quickly.

Not for the first time, he sympathised with James' reluctance to return to this scene.

Ironically, as he grew tense, he felt Delilah relax beside him. He glanced over to find her looking at the empty space around them.

"It works." She then sniffed haughtily. "As expected of course, I didn't spend two years slaving away at you for-"

"-Again, do shut up," Harry interrupted. He led them down the stairs as Delilah gasped at him overdramatically. "I wonder how many people will see through it," he wondered, ignoring her theatrics.

Delilah watched as a server made their way passed them, muttering a distracted 'excuse me' as he went. "Well the spell is _quite_ simple, it will barely affect anyone who is actually looking," she explained, longingly eyeing the champagne that had drifted by.

Rolling his eyes, Harry reached out and plucked one of the glasses just as the man stepped out of reach. "Thank you for reciting the basic description of the spell I spent a third of the year modifying," he drawled, before forcing a smile as the server turned around in surprise.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you Ha-"

"It's okay, I was just passing by," Harry quickly interrupted before the man drew unwanted attention.

Resuming their progress, Harry offered over the crystal glass, shaking his head as the girl barely older than he seemed to light up deviously. _Enabling a budding alcoholic… well done, Harry._

"This is why you're my favourite student."

Harry snorted. "I'm your _only_ student."

She took a sip, humming in satisfaction. "That is also a valid reason."

"Drinking on the job are we, dear Harry?"

Harry blinked at the quiet comment. _That didn't take long…_ Turning, he immediately understood why.

A delighted smile played at his lips as he approached, "Lady Alessandra, you look as gorgeous as ever."

Alessandra's lips quirked in a smile as she nodded approvingly. "Mmm, better."

Despite himself, Harry coloured ever so slightly. He had rather butchered his attempt at a compliment the last time they had met.

They shared a familiar grin as she embraced him, before Harry stepped back and gestured to Delilah. "I'd like you to meet my general studies tutor from Beauxbatons, Delilah von Histwood, we just returned from a lesson."

Alessandra smiled at the girl, and upon hearing Delilah's name and school she stepped forwards and exchanged a kiss on the cheeks. "Alessandra Tremblay, it's nice to see a fellow Beauxbatons girl in this dreary country," she whispered, smirking.

Harry wisely elected not to respond, looking away in mild exasperation instead. _Can't catch a break these days._

Delilah blinked in surprise, "Fellow… oh! Tremblay, as in one of the French noble houses?" At Alessandra's affirming smile, Delilah glanced at Harry in slight confusion.

"I work as a liaison for the ICW here in Britain," she explained. At Delilah's nod of understanding, the French woman then hummed thoughtfully. "A general studies tutor? How vague... may I ask what that entails?"

Harry tuned out the conversation as Delilah seemed to take to Alessandra like a fish to water. He resisted the urge to snort in amusement as Alessandra's eyes flicked towards him every so often, a disguised look behind them.

 _I bet she'll have Delilah's date of birth, maiden name, and blood type before the minute is up,_ Harry thought dryly.

The more he looked however, the more he felt that there was something _else_ in the looks she was giving him. He frowned inwardly, watching Alessandra's fingers fidget uneasily around her wine glass.

Why did she seem so-

"-re one of Harry's tutors as well?"

Hearing his name, Harry tuned back in to find Alessandra humming as she reached out to fix his collar.

"I haven't had the pleasure of conducting a lesson in months," she said, running her hand over his front and smoothing some of the wrinkles. "Work has been quite the chore recently, however he seems to be handling himself tonight well enough." Her smile was somewhat strained, and Harry didn't miss the way her eyes darted to the sides as she spoke.

Delilah frowned, her eyes trailing the other woman's fingers on _her_ student.

"Alessandra instructs me in the ways of etiquette and social decorum," Harry explained, ignoring her odd behaviour for now. "Meaning that she says mean things about how I hold my spork."

Delilah's brow cocked as she glanced sidelong at him. "Spork?"

"Pinnacle of modern engineering, experts say."

"Oh for goodness sake." Alessandra's glare had him clearing his throat as he glanced away, suddenly finding a nearby painting extremely interesting. "I will not be baited into this ridiculous trap of yours again."

Harry coughed.

Delilah pursed her lips tightly, desperately trying to hold back her snort of laughter as she watched the regal looking woman's eye twitch. _So it isn't_ just _myself he picks at for his amusement._

They conversed for a bit longer before eventually moving off, Alessandra rather bluntly having bid them farewell after spotting an individual across the way.

Harry had to offer the woman a strange glance back as she moved off. _She seemed… off._

They weaved their way through the crowd, taking guilty pleasure in people watching as they did so. The charm was far from infallible however, as Harry felt more than just a few eyes on his person at times. Although thankfully, none had made an attempt to approach.

Yet...

 _Maybe I should just keep the charm up the entire night?_ he reasoned.

It would make the entire affair a lot more palatable.

With the aid of the nifty spell, they found themselves exiting the Potter manor in small time. The chaotic mess of noise behind them seemed to drown away as they stepped out onto the moonlit pathway.

Shivering slightly at the exposure to the sudden cold, Delilah looked over at Harry as they came to a stop. He was inhaling the night air deeply, seemingly unbothered by its chill.

"It's suffocating in there," he said, noticing her staring. His hand reached up to push back his unruly black hair, lingering for a moment on the curiously shaped scar that marred his forehead. "I'd prefer it if we were back at our cafe."

Delilah smiled at the thought. _Our cafe…_ it was somewhat true. After closing hours and the flash of a few galleons, that entire balcony had been theirs for their lessons for nearly two years.

Her eyes fell to him once more, wondering when she would be able to see him again. He had been such a constant for so long… after all.

A curious, crafty little devil at times, however a cherished presence nonetheless.

And now he was going back to school, and she was _leaving_ hers early to become someone else...

Reaching into her blouse, she pulled out a coin, rotating it so that the gleaming crest of France's Gringotts branch stared back at her.

"This is going to be the last time we see each other for awhile."

"Perhaps," he replied. "I'm gonna miss how your voice used to bore me to sleep."

The scarred girl perked a brow at him, before shaking her head in a fond sort of exasperation. "Well, that lofty task falls to your teachers once again," she mused.

"I'd still rather it was yours."

There was a pause, before Delilah scoffed. _You've done it now, boy_. "Would you now?" she whispered.

She didn't give him a chance to reply as she pulled him closer by his chin and pressed a chaste peck across the corner of his lips.

She pulled back, surprised by the tingling of her mouth. The satisfied smirk on her face turned into an attempt to resist laughing as she took in her student's baffled green eyes.

Apparently, he had not been expecting _that_.

A split decision had her pressing her wand tip to the book she had been carrying all this time, and Harry watched as it duplicated before his eyes. Another quick enchantment on both saw them glow simultaneously, before she pressed one into his hands.

"What-" he began, before she hushed him.

She smiled at him. "Consider it an ongoing lesson."

Harry's brow rose up. "I think this may be a little out of my league, Delilah…" He muttered, flicking through the first few pages and almost having an aneurysm as the lines upon lines of complex equations and theories began to blur together. "Wait… isn't this _all_ of your work towards the project you were going to use in the entry exa-"

"I trust you," she said simply.

It was enough to silence Harry, who had opened his mouth to object.

She pet his head, chuckling as he shot her a mild glare and bat her hand away. "You can always ask me if you have questions." She wiggled her copy of the book.

Harry glanced at his book, and then hers, before it finally clicked. "Oh."

She snorted, before licking her buzzing lips and stepping away. Her fingers fluttered gently in a wordless goodbye as she turned and began to head to where the property wards ended.

He watched her pass through the wards, her form glimmering slightly before she turned to face him once more. She raised the coin to her lips and sent another of those familiar smiles his way-

...except she didn't.

Her lips froze in their upwards curve and her eyes drifted from where they had been locked with his. Disbelief, followed by horror seemed to etch itself onto her face as her eyes snapped back to Harry.

Her mouth opened, to scream or maybe shout, he didn't get to find out which as she vanished within the portkey's blue flash.

Something cold tickled down his spine, prickling his skin and flaring the fine hairs on his arms. He turned slowly, eyes scouring the picture behind him.

He could see the guests through the doors he had left half open, laughing and chattering. He could Alessandra drifting around within, likely waiting for him to finish.

Yet he could see nothing that might have warranted such a reaction from Delilah. His brows narrowed he glanced around, confuse-

' _Drip'_

Harry paused, ears prickling.

' _Drip'_

His eyes dragged themselves back to the foyer.

' _Drip'_

He saw it this time, aided by the pale moonlight which illuminated it for a split second.

A bead of crimson, falling from above.

His gaze swung upwards, and the thoughts in his mind scattered into nothingness as the air grew suddenly cold around him.

There, impaled from groin to skull upon the tallest metal spire above the entranceway like a gruesome warning… hung the freshly staked corpse of what had been House Potter's oldest and last surviving house elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: A decision has been made to push the years of enrollment into schooling systems to the age of thirteen. This is to simply elevate the maturity of the characters to a more suitable level for the themes in this story.
> 
> Solid pairings have not been decided yet.
> 
> For example and also to clear up any confusions, Harry is in his third year (15). Delilah is in her fifth year (17) and, if mirroring the system for Hogwarts, legally able to leave school should she pass the respective testing.
> 
> Also keep in mind that whilst there are themes of 'nobility' and 'lordship', the story merely plays on the concept of there being a secret, magical high-society. There will not be a major focus on politics, as this will primarily be an Action/Adventure drama with a focus on Mystery and Lovecraftian influences.


	2. Chapter 1

_I'm a terrible pureblood_...

The thought sapped at him, making his eye twitch in irritation. Once upon a time, the notion would have been ludicrous. A Potter, struggling in the realm of high-society? Utter poppycock.

However, it was clear that there was merit to the insult now. As much as it irked him.

The truth of the matter was that Britain no longer had need of his skills or jaded mind. His life had been dominated by the war, and he had become a warrior fit for nothing but so. _Then the Dark Lord fell,_ he mumbled inwardly.

The Dark Lord did fall, and the scion of House Potter was left rich, traumatised, addled by war and loss and most importantly... _widowed_.

It was a treacherous, horrible game he was forced to play in, and for all his loathing of it, James couldn't deny its necessity in his world. If it wasn't for Dumbledore, he would have been swamped and overrun. Not by spellfire and dark wizards, for that would have been a familiar and welcome foe.

No, he had been attacked by the most vicious of enemies…

_Politics._

James shuddered.

Dumbledore had given him an out during his last and final term as Supreme Mugwump, an escape from the lecherous gaze of wizarding society.

...and now he had just delved back into the lion's den, with a big, _juicy_ steak strapped to his chest.

He had somehow managed to rope himself into attending several promised dinners and functions, some of which overlapped the same damned date. How he had managed to be led by the nose so well, James hadn't the foggiest idea.

"-You look like the cat that was scolded for eating the canary, Lord Potter _._ " James snapped back to the present, shaking his thoughts away as he turned with a polite smile on his face. Only to let it immediately fall as he watched an amused Alessandra approach from the crowd. "Has your birthday cheer expired already?"

James wasn't offered a chance to glare at the woman as a nearby guest drunkenly shouted out a birthday praise, drawing an incredible amount of attention.

It took nearly ten minutes for him to disentangle from the resulting crowd, and his mood only soured further upon finding Alessandra waiting for him by the drink table with an awfully smug smirk on her face. "You truly are a wretched creature, Tremblay," he hissed under his breath, taking the loaded tumbler she held out for him and slamming it roughly.

Alessandra chuckled, opening her mouth to reply before seeing James suddenly reach for _another_ drink. The smile slipped from her face as her eyes snapped over his form in scrutiny. She straightened in concern as he downed the second shot, face souring at the taste.

How had she only just realised it? He was _rattled._

Her wand flourished subtly beneath the low-hanging sleeves of her expensive gown, a minor privacy charm erecting around them. It wasn't particularly strong, but she didn't have time to set up anything else.

"James," she called. "Is everythi-"

"Is the wine easy on the tongue?" he interrupted suddenly, reaching for it. "I prefer the sweeter vintages myself."

Alessandra's brows narrowed at the sudden question. Her wand twisted beneath her robes as another set of privacy charms were layered over the first. "Speak freely."

James placed the glass back on the table, his demeanour becoming grave. "Everything is not okay," he said. "Units one to six have been neutralised, presume dead."

Alessandra's eyes widened in alarm. "W-what?"

James sucked in a deep breath, finding the humid air of little to no relief. He locked eyes with Alessandra. "Control yourself, we're being watched." He waited for her as she coughed into her hand, fanning her face as if the wine had caught in her throat. "See that one behind me?" he asked, stepping to the side and gesturing to a nearby portrait.

Over his shoulder Alessandra caught sight of olive skin, an exquisitely made dress, and captivating eyes in the brief moment she dared look.

"Who is she?"

"I don't know," James replied through thin lips. "She's been tailing me for the past thirty minutes."

Alessandra closed her eyes, forcing herself to picture the woman in her mind. "She doesn't look like-"

"No," James affirmed quietly. "She doesn't look _anything_ like our targets."

"A third party?"

He nodded stiffly. "Seems like it, at least three of her ilk from my observations."

Alessandra eyed James warily, picking through the finger foods in an attempt to subvert attention. "Call it," she said. "This is out of our hands."

James shook his head immediately. "Communications are cut, jinxes are already in affect."

Alessandra restrained an irritated sigh. "I'll withdraw from the party then, and return with rein-"

"Not an option," James snapped. At Alessandra's quizzical stare, he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "I need you here... Harry will be arriving soon."

He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head.

" _What!?_ " she hissed. At the lack of a reply, Alessandra pinched the bridge of her nose. "James, what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"He… his presence would solidify the party's legitimacy, if the enemy had noticed that my own son wasn't here-"

"-you're using him as _bait_?" The disgust in her tone was clear.

He didn't answer.

Alessandra restrained the urge to hex her colleague, letting loose a mental string of french profanities towards the man instead. "Call your elf, have him evacuate Harry the moment he arrive-" Alessandra trailed off, watching as James' jaw clenched with each word she spoke.

"Pebbles..." James tried, before clearing his throat and regaining himself. "My house elf is dead."

"Dead," Alessandra repeated numbly.

His face was neutral, yet she could almost feel the hatred rolling off his shoulders from where she stood. "His bond to me was severed whilst we were talking," he stated matter-of-factly. He turned to her, visibly trying to keep himself in check. "I… I need you to keep an eye on Harry."

She nodded immediately, and James felt some of the tension seep from his body. He knew she would. She was particularly fond of the boy, after all.

 _She wouldn't have put him in this situation._ The whisper echoed in his head, scratching at the walls of his skull like hordes of inferi.

"-r plan?"

_She would have made a better parent than you…_

"James?"

He snapped back to the present, stomping the poisonous thoughts from his mind. "Sorry, yes?"

Alessandra regarded him quietly for a moment. "I said, what is your plan?"

The question had him looking around, and his eyes caught the two fireplaces towards the entrance of the manor. They were without a doubt, jinxed, but… _the fireplace in father's study._

"My father's study has its own floo," he said. "I need to see how far the blanket stretches," he then muttered, more to himself than to her.

Alessandra perked a brow. "Forgive me if I don't understand your jarhead language, but what on earth does that mean?"

"How much of an area the jinx covers," he replied hastily. Ignoring whatever Alessandra was saying in reply, he sucked in another unsatisfying breath. "I should go. The quicker I move, the better."

Alessandra closed her mouth, somewhat put off by the rude interruption. Nonetheless, she nodded in agreement. "Get moving then."

He made to leave, before pausing awkwardly and turning back. "Tremblay, I… tha-"

"I'm not doing it for _you_ , Potter," she replied crisply.

James swallowed thickly, nodding in concession before departing.

He didn't spare her a second glance as he ducked his head and began to slip through crowds who were none the wiser. Infuriatingly, he could feel the gaze of a single pair of eyes on him as he went, still trailing after him slowly as they had done for the entire night.

 _What the hell do they feed this woman?_ He bemoaned internally as he took the stairs up. He was unaware if she knew he was onto her, although it was unlikely considering he hadn't done much to give himself away. His glances at her had been disguised and when she did catch him looking, he had... allowed his eyes to _wander_.

A necessary sin, he told himself.

Shaking away the thoughts, he scaled the last step and quickly made his way across the landing to where the doors to his office sat closed. His hand fell on the cool chrome of the handle, and he paused, his eyes glancing down the hall to his left that led to the family wing.

_You're an utter fool, James Potter…_

Suppressing the urge to bang his head against the door, he instead pushed it open.

The smell of woodsmoke and fine alcohol filled his nose, and James stepped fully into the room. Memories played in his mind as his gaze passed over the worn out bookshelves and curios. Memories of a far simpler time.

The desk across the way, large and imposing, sat like a gleaming beacon of amicable concord in the room. The surface was still cluttered from his father's old notes and letters, having never been cleared since his murder at the hands of the Dark Lord. Some of the pages were still stained with old splotches of copper...

For it was in this room, seated at _that_ desk, did Charlus Hardwin Potter meet his end.

Incidentally, James didn't come here often.

Ignoring it completely, James swiftly made his way over to the basalt fireplace that dominated the leftmost wall. A flick of his wand saw it alight into roaring flames within an instant, and another motion saw a dash of floo powder hurl itself from the nearby cauldron and into the flames.

He was expecting it, but it didn't lessen the blow any when the fire sputtered desperately, before ultimately retaining its healthy colour.

He sighed softly. _So they have a ward specialist powerful enough to blanket jinx the entire manor._ The notion was worrying. _With that sort of firepower... why haven't they moved on me yet?_

Turning, James frowned at the door that remained closed. Asides from testing the floo network, isolating himself served another purpose in enticing his tail to make her move.

Yet…

He shook his head, wishing for another drink.

 _It makes no sense!_ His grip around his wand clenched. _What are they waiting for? They've done everything perfectly, all that's left is dealing with me-_

He paused.

_**If** _ _they're here for me…_

A chill crept down his spine.

What if they weren't?

James' eyes hardened, his sense of direction returning to him as he slipped his wand back into its holster. _Mission parameters have changed, priority objective: capture and interrogation._

He'd had enough of stumbling around in the dark, not knowing what was going on. He needed information. The memory of olive coloured skin and a smile that promised something dangerous flashed through his mind, and his features turned grim.

_You'll do._

His eyes fell over to his father's desk, and the drawer that was locked at the very bottom of it.

Not long after did James sweep out from the office, a crystal glass filled with Ogden's finest in his hand. He stepped out over to the bannister again, ignoring the abstract sense of deja vu that slapped him in the face as he leaned forwards and let his elbows rest against the wood grain.

Few noticed him, as most had fully given into the revelry. James envied them… they didn't have a care in the world.

It didn't take long to find the one he was looking for. Her compatriots had vanished, their absences now weighing heavily on James' mind.

He let his gaze linger on her, allowing it to roam. It was only after a long moment did he permit his eyes to meet her knowing ones. A smile played at the corner of his lips as he turned away, to peer out over his guests as he feigned a sip of his drink. Immediately, he saw her begin to move in his peripheral.

James clicked his teeth, satisfied. _There's a good girl._

She glided her way up the stairs, her dress stretched like a second skin across unblemished flesh as she approached.

It wasn't until she was beside him did his head shift to regard her.

"Playing coy does not suit you, my Lord." Her voice was light and cultured. Foreign, although from where James couldn't tell.

"Not in the way it suits you... Madame Valaine," he replied. His fingers extended, the flaming vapours of the firewhiskey licking at the sides of the glass as he held it out towards her.

Inwardly he let out a sigh of relief. He had almost forgotten her name.

'Valaine' sniffed imperiously, taking the offered drink with a curious furrow of her brows before glancing up at her host. "Not exactly something you would serve to a lady," she chided.

He glanced away with an unimpressed shrug, and she almost rolled her eyes at the challenge.

James' brows rose in genuine surprise as Valaine threw back the golden liquor with ease. "Oh dear…"

Valaine laughed softly, covering her mouth. "Forgive me, it's been a while since I've had a _real_ drink." Her tongue roamed over her teeth slowly. "Champagne and wine grows tiresome after a point."

James watched as her eyes glassed over, if only slightly. "I couldn't imagine the horror of it."

He smiled as Valaine pursed her lips in mock exasperation, not missing the way she took the opportunity to edge closer into him as she handed the glass back.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, James grunted softly and stepped away from the bannister. "Come, let me pour you another." He extended a hand.

He could almost see the victory in her smile as her fingers reached for his. "With _pleasure_ ," she purred, allowing him to pull her into the study behind them and away from the commotion down below.

She examined the room quickly, before turning back to James as he shrugged off his coat and laid it across the large table. Chancing a glance backwards as James was distracted, Valaine pulled the door firmly shut behind her.

She leant against the desk, regarding James as he approached with two glasses filled with the same whiskey from earlier. Her fingers brushed his hand as she took it, her cold skin sending a ripple of sensations across his spectrum.

Valaine sighed, taking a leisurely sip this time as opposed to shooting the entire thing. "This place is so warm and full of life tonight," she mused, drawing his attention. "However, it seems like an outlier compared to most others."

James smiled mirthlessly. Stepping away from her and towards the fireplace, he grunted in question. "What gives you that impression?"

Hands like soft albeit frozen flowers suddenly came to a rest on his waist, causing him to stiffen. They began to crawl upwards, caressing the skin through the fabric of his tailored shirt. "Just a hunch," she whispered, her cool breath sending pleasant shivers down his back.

Her hands came to a gentle stop as she tugged on his waist, urging James to look at her.

Steeling himself, James complied. Her fingers drew towards the buttons on his shirt as he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the glass aside. Like a moth to a flame, his gaze was drawn into hers.

Images swam within the moisture in her eyes, within the reflection of her sclera. Strangely fascinated, he looked deeper…

-and something _flashed_.

James felt his breath hitch as the deranged images suddenly began to play in _his_ mind, turning his thoughts wild and heating up his skin.

A prurient expression fell over Valaine's face, making it hard to even think clearly as his heart started to race in his chest.

_Legilimency?_

Taken by surprise, he scrambled for his occlumancy but ultimately felt his control of it slip as wild thoughts began to fill his head.

His shirt fell open, and oddly, it was the sudden shock of her frosty skin that pressed flush against his that did it. He tore his eyes away from her hazy, albeit _glowing_ ones; and immediately the wanton desire to _indulge_ faded.

_N-not again…_

Sucking down a damning breath, he pressed a hand against the small of her back and pushed her roughly into his chest. The other fisted tightly into her vibrant hazel locks and pulled, forcing a gasp from her throat as her neck arched.

Her gaze was looking to entrap his once more, and James pressed his lips against hers.

She responded immediately, her tongue making plays for dominance as her hips bucked hard against his pelvis.

He forced his eyes shut and prayed to his ancestors for whatever little bit of strength they could lend him as he pushed Valaine backwards, slamming her up against his father's desk. The need for release was stirring something terrible within him, trying to rob him of his willpower even as his wand dropped into his hand from its holster under his sleeve.

Her legs wrapped around him with monstrous strength, gripping him tight and somehow pulling him even closer. James felt her lips leave his, and her tongue began to trail a wet line down his stubbled neck.

Something sharp pricked the side of his throat, just as something sharp poked into the side of _her_ stomach.

" _My lord-_ "

" _S-stupefy._ "

His strained, laden voice cut through her lust addled whisper like a knife as a red flash lit up the room. Her form immediately slackened as her eyes dimmed, her head thumping harshly against the desk as her legs fell limp from where they had been hooked around his waist.

Ripping himself away from her, James shoved her body unceremoniously onto the desk, before turning and collapsing against the legs himself. His back braced against the wood for support as his chest heaved, desperate for air.

Wiping her cold saliva away from his chin and spitting distastefully, James reached up to his neck to find two tiny welts.

Two small beads of blood had already begun to form.

His head rolled tiredly to the side, and the sight of two heeled feet dangling next to him had him swallowing awkwardly as he looked away.

Shaking his head to clear it of _distractions_ , he dragged himself up to his feet, the gears and cogs churning softly in his mind as he planned his next step. "God, I'm too old for this shite..."

* * *

Harry's notice-me-not charm was failing.

He knew why, yet even still, he had recast it to make doubly sure it wasn't a fault of his own. As expected, it mattered not.

Delilah's words rung loud and clear in his head. _'Well the spell is quite simple, it will barely affect anyone who is actually looking'_

And people were indeed _looking_.

He could feel the eyes on him as he stepped through the party. They were boring holes into his back, making his skin wriggle as if he had leant against a tree infested with ants.

His breath was constricting in his throat, the air feeling thicker with each step he took. Walls of bodies blocked his way, his own spell leaving them ignorant of his presence.

His salvation came in the form of one the servants who filtered through the crowd with ease. Harry watched as the masses subconsciously parted for the slim man as he carried his tray of drinks. Quickening his pace, Harry slipped into the servant's wake.

Yet... the feeling of being watched only intensified, and Harry squashed down the urge to chance a look behind.

Peeling away from the servant who had begun to veer off, Harry made for the stairs he had descended just a moment ago. Delilah's book vibrated madly in the crook of his arm, nearly slipping from his grip and causing him to bump into a nearby guest. Cursing softly under his breath, Harry ducked his head and slid around the man as he turned.

The sounds of a commotion could be heard over his shoulder, although Harry was distracted by another pulse of vibrations from the book.

He could almost hear Delilah's worried, frantic scribbles through the damned thing.

Cresting the landing, Harry picked up the pace the moment he was out of eyeshot. He passed a room with a cracked door, barely even registering the muffled grunts and moans of a scandalous nature that slipped into the hallway.

It was only when he could barely hear the music of the party did he enter the closest room, closing the door shut behind him firmly.

He took a moment to scan the darkened room, his expression set in stone.

He recognised it as one of the small recreational studies guests would occupy whilst staying at the manor. It was a comfortable place, fit with luxurious furniture and curious items to capture one's attention.

As expected, there was no one else inside.

He took a few steps further in, coming to a slow stop in the middle of the room.

A moment passed, the silence occupied by the faint music that eased its way through the walls of the building, and Harry's breathing… which slowly began to grow louder.

His facade broke as his shoulders slumped, his heart thudding like a jackhammer against his ribcage. A haunted look entered his eyes as his mind flashed with the image of Pebbles' mangled corpse.

_What happened?_

The question echoed through his mind, bouncing off the inside of his skull as if they were the hallowed walls of a cathedral.

The book in his hand suddenly buzzed again, and Harry flinched. A sudden, irrational flood of anger clawed through his veins, and he sent the enchanted object hurtling across the room. It smacked into the far wall with a dull _'thud!'_

The sound echoed through the room, the baritone suddenness of it breaking the spell of irrationality that had befell him.

Harry reeled in his still outstretched arm. "What… what's happening?" he repeated, sinking limply into one of the dusty armchairs.

He frowned in distaste, picturing the blood in his mind, the way it ran _thick_ down the cast iron spire-

Harry shook his head violently, dispelling the disturbing images as he forced down the bile that had risen in his throat.

_Are we under attack?_

The question had him rolling his eyes scathingly. _Of course we're under attack, you daft idiot._

The threat of an attack had always been there, a constant presence looming over them left in the Dark Lord's wake.

A memory flashed through his mind, and Harry remembered seeing his father's men enter the manor just as Delilah had taken him away for their last lesson.

' _Just a precaution, Harry, can't be too careful.'_

Harry stood slowly, brows furrowing. "Just a precaution?"

Since when did the ICW loan out professional _battlemages_ for parties?

' _-can't be too careful.'_

Picturing James' distracted smile had the corner of Harry's lip curling up in a sneer-

A buzz sounded through the room, startling Harry for a second time.

Shaking his head, he glanced over to where Delilah's book was splayed open on the floor across the way. He winced, watching it vibrate again. She would _not_ be happy to find out he had ignored her.

Despite this, he left it where it was.

She would be of little use, stuck within her home in France.

 _The party is still going,_ he reasoned, _and the wards haven't shifted to me yet, so James is still alive._

Should he go looking for his father? Or was that an utterly ludicrous idea? Would he be safer in seclusion, or in plain sight at the par-

His train of thought came to an abrupt halt. In his internal ramblings, his gaze had meandered away from the book on the floor, looking through the glass door of the balcony to the moonlight sky instead.

...and in its reflection, he watched as the door behind him silently creaked open.

The handle was held down as if a hand was pressing on it, yet Harry saw naught but an empty doorway. His mind was deathly still, his senses straining as he stared at the polished windows.

The door opened fully, and the handle slowly rose back up into a neutral position. Fear clutched at him once more, sending his heart racing as the sound of soft steps on wood reached his ears.

And still, he saw nothing in the reflection.

Swallowing thickly, he turned…

* * *

" _Enervate."_

Valaine's eyes fluttered open, her mind clearing as a heavy weight suddenly lifted itself from her body. Her eyes swam in her head, the vision blurring before slowly coming into clarity.

She took a moment, trying to recall what had happe-

It came back with a rush. The overwhelming torrents of lust and need, the way she had wrapped Lord Potter around her finger, the enraptured state he had been in… what had happened?

"Welcome back."

She snapped to attention as a familiar voice cut away her lethargy with a knife's edge. She took in several things at once.

One, she was still in Lord Potter's office.

Two, she couldn't hear the music from the party. Either some time had passed and it had finished, or the room was warded with privacy charms.

Three, the lord of the house himself was seated on the far side of the desk from her. He had regained himself, and the throes of aphrodisia that had once filled his light brown eyes were long gone. A small, pleasant smile graced his features, although there was a dangerous edge to it that made her pause.

And four, she was completely, and utterly… _free._

She glanced down, disbelief spreading over her features as she found her limbs completely unbound.

James in turn made a show of adjusting his collar, drawing her attention back towards him. He watched as her baffled expression turned to one of fear as tears pooled in her eyes.

"M-my lord?" She began, her arms coming up to wrap around her chest protectively. "What… what happened?"

James perked a brow. "Really?" was all he said.

"No," she replied immediately, as if it had slipped from her mouth of its own volition. She blinked, surprised before shaking her head. "My lord I don't know what's happening. Were we not about to- did, did I do something wrong?"

James snorted softly. Leaning back in his seat, he propped his feet up in a blase manner. His wand emerged from his coat, causing her to stiffen as he flicked it.

A faint squeaking commenced as an invisible force began to buff his shoes to a shining polish.

He glanced back at Valaine, clearing his throat softly before he spoke. "Did you do something wrong?" he repeated. She nodded uncertainly, and he hummed as if in thought. "Asides from invading my home, murdering my men before attempting to seduce and then kill me also?" James smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You tell me."

"I did invade your home, but I personally did not kill your men and I did not intend to kill you. I was only instructed to keep an eye on your movements."

Her eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as she gaped at what had just come out of her mouth.

A few tense moments passed as James merely smirked at her, before she suddenly stiffened. Her head turned to the small table on the right side of the room, and the glass decanter filled with liquor that sat upon it innocuously. Her gaze snapped back towards him, eyes narrowing as her hands found the arms of the chair she was seated upon.

A dull 'thud' met her ears, and she looked back to see the lord Potter place two small, old looking vials on the desk. He met her eyes, and shrugged laxly. "There's probably a witty one-liner for this moment..."

Her grip on the wooden furniture tightened, and James swore he heard the wood creak in protest. Valaine's eyes narrowed, the crocodile tears vanishing as she straightened in her chair.

"You're a vampire."

She sneered at him. "A _countess_ ," she corrected vehemently, and James had a feeling that it wasn't the potion talking.

He suppressed the urge to glare at the woman. _What I wouldn't give for actual veritaserum right now_. Whatever the black-market, off-brand facsimile the potion he had given her was, it was nothing compared to the real thing.

"Are all of those who came to my home like-" James suddenly paused, and shook his head slowly at her. "Don't," he warned.

Muscles coiled in preparation to leap from her seat and tear his throat out, Valaine froze. A long moment passed, during which he just stared at her. It was abrupt, the sudden change in the man. It was clear that she was no longer facing James Potter, the out-of-date lord of his house.

It was the Red Buck of Godric's Hollow that stared her down now. The ICW's infamous attack dog.

"Must you underestimate me so much?" She asked with a strained smile and a weak attempt at levity. At his unrelenting glare, she sighed, her demeanour changing as she matched his stare with her own. "I wouldn't really mind if you had tied me up, you know?" she suggested in a whisper, her eyes flashing wildly.

A familiar feeling of haziness began to pass over James. Lurid images began to flash through his head, of what he could have done if he _had_ tied her up. He shook his head harshly, blinking the sudden fog from his eyes.

His eyes narrowed.

"I warned you." His tone was bitter. Contrite, even.

Valaine's brows began to rise in alarm, before the world suddenly went black… no, not black, it just ceased to _exist_. She blinked, confused, and a sodden rush of bile clawed its way up her throat as her eyelids spasmed wildly, grinding painfully against something _rough_.

A strangled, high pitched sound slipped past her lips as her fingers reached up to her eyes… and pressed against something hard, and _coarse_.

He had turned her eyes to stone.

A scream _tore_ from her throat.

She tried to stand, but found herself stuck to her seat as if bolted to it. Her hands and feet flailed wildly, although to little if not no avail.

She drew breath to scream again, panicked near out of her mind before a flash of sensations struck her brain, inducing an almost instantaneous migraine. Colours began to spin and contort, her eyelids unfolded from where they had contracted uselessly, and slowly, a picture began to form as her vision returned.

James just waited, his wand tapping idly against the tabletop as he watched dispassionately.

It took more than just a moment for Valaine to come to. Her fingers were gingerly feeling for her ocular organs through her eyelids as if she could scarcely believe they were real. They came away bloody, the flesh having rubbed raw against the stone.

Deciding that he had waited long enough, the tapping of his wand ceased. "Are all of your compatriots of... your kind?" he asked, as if nothing had ever happened.

Her teeth clamped down on her tongue, trying desperately to hold the words from spilling from her mouth. "N-no."

James nodded, stroking his stubble with his off hand as he looked away.

Seeing his flippancy, Valaine's teeth clenched down harder. She wanted to lash out, to _hurt_ him for what he did to her. Her throat was burned raw from screaming, however the shame of breaking in front of her captor stung _far_ worse.

"How many are there?"

"F-f… five."

James glanced at her, a suddenly sympathetic look on his features. "It's no veritaserum, but unless you can learn some measure of occlumancy in the next five seconds, do give up." He shook his head. "Please, don't make this any harder."

It was the pity that did it.

A red film basted over her vision as she exploded from her seat. Or at least tried to.

Her hands went to grip the arms of her chair, to use them as leverage to stand, however her grip never found purchase…

She lurched forwards, her forehead nearly smacking into the desk before she caught herself. Dumbfounded, she looked down and found the chair perfectly intact.

It was her hands that were the problem, for they were _gone_.

Valaine's eyes widened as she raised her arms, her jaw falling open in disbelief. Tears began to surface in the corners of her eyes as she stared at the two perfect stumps at the end of her wrists, where her hands should have been. There was no pain, nor blood… just numbness.

It was so much worse for it.

Her rage bled into nothingness as her lips trembled, her still unfocused eyes shooting rapidly between the nubs and the apathetic looking wizard across from her. Valaine tried to speak, but found her tongue rendered still by shock and the horrible sense of void. It was maddening, the way she tried to curl her fingers and felt completely and utterly _nothing_.

" _Countess_ Valaine."

Tears fell, cascading down her cheeks as she dragged her eyes away from the stumps of her arms and looked to the man who had done this to her.

"Don't."

It was just one word.

She would have preferred it so much more if he had threatened her, chided her. Even a callous taunt would have been easier to deal with. More tears fell as she felt her mind cracking.

This was a nightmare. She couldn't have prepared for this, who could?

She had told them… she had told them not to muddle in the affairs of witches and wizards!

She tried to speak again, however her mouth had gone dry and her throat seemed to scratch like sandpaper. A pitiful retch echoed through the room as she coughed, shame welling up in her eyes as she sent a desperate look his way. "C-can you…" She trailed off, her silent pleas loud in the air.

A moment passed, and something sick began to ferment within her stomach as her captor remained silent.

" _Please_..."

His wand twitched.

Her gaze hadn't wavered, yet somehow she had missed the exact point in time her hands reappeared, attached fully to her wrists.

A sob escaped her lips as she clenched her fingers, flexing and touching them just to make sure they were real. Breaths of relief rattled from her chest, and Valaine folded her hands under the desk, desperately trying to regain herself.

An uncomfortable moment stretched, interspersed with Valaine's broken sniffling.

" _Okay._ " she whispered finally, her voice small now. "You've made your point."

James didn't answer, but waited for her to look at him instead. It was only after a long moment did she do so. Her tears had tracked mascara down her cheeks, and she was careful to keep her eyes away from his.

Satisfied, James grunted and lowered his feet from the table, facing her in a more presentable manner. "Good." His voice was quiet, but it rang loudly in her head. "How many are currently inside?" he asked, as if the past few moments hadn't happened at all.

She didn't bother fighting it this time. Her shoulders slumped, and the dignified picture she had once made had become muted. "Four inside, and one is on the roof." Her voice sounded like a demure wind, whispering hollow through leafless trees.

She had broken.

James ignored the way the revelation made his gut roll. "How many vampires?"

"Four," she repeated. "The last is a mercenary from America, specialising in spells to block…" Her brows furrowed. "-magical travel, or to just keep people from leaving? I-I'm not sure how it works."

 _Blanket-wards specialist_ , James deciphered, impressed. Such skill was hard to come by outside of Gringotts, and it would have been far from cheap. "You knew that there would be guards hidden in the crowd." He leaned forwards, the lines on his face deepening. "How?"

Valaine shook her head, ashamed of herself for what she was doing. She answered nonetheless. "One of your men was followed home, the night you tracked down and killed a band of slavers in the Romanian countryside," she stated, her tone monotonous. "We… took him, and made him talk."

James' expression grew dark, his fingers tightening around his wand. "Who?"

"An older, dark-skinned man, with a silver medal pinned to his breast." Valaine looked down, uneasy. "H-he's dead."

James' frowned at her, before reclining in his seat somewhat stunned. "Samwell?" he whispered softly, before shooting Valaine an annoyed glare as she answered 'yes' to the rhetorical question. She wilted, shrinking back in her chair as if worried he would take something else from her.

He didn't spare her pity, for she had good reason to be afraid. Samwell had been a good man.

Stowing his immediate anger, James distracted himself with another question. "You say 'band of criminals' as if they mean nothing to you." Her withdrawn figure shifted as she lifted her head to glance at him, the smallest of questions on her face. "Are you not their allies? Why else are you here?"

The question on her face deepened, but she answered nonetheless. "We don't care about _them_. You killed one of _ours_. That band of filth had-" her expression turned to one of disgust, "-stolen her, from our family. You killed them, you rescued her from them." She leaned forwards in anger, the spark of a flame alight in her eyes once again, however, the sight of the wand on the table snuffed it out quickly. "Then you realised what she was, and you _butchered_ her."

James frowned, "What the hell are you talking about?"

The anger embered once more, coupled with a desperation. "Sfacim e merde, the _girl_! The little girl that they...they." Her indignant screams trailed off as tears began to roll over her high cheekbones once again.

The words wouldn't come out of her mouth, and James felt like they didn't need to. Anger and disgust steeped in his mind as he lamented the fact that the slavers' deaths had been _too_ quick. However… something didn't add up.

"There was no little girl." A look of fury washed over her face, her shame and fear forgotten momentarily. James ignored her, shaking his head as he attempted to recollect the events of that night. " _I_ led the team, _I_ filed the reports, _I_ signed the case closed. Believe me, Valaine, there was no little girl in that hideout."

"LIAR!" She suddenly screamed, her stiletto heels digging into the wooden floor as she fought to restrain herself before he ripped another piece of her away. "We saw! We all saw what your men did to her, we were there for her before you came and ruined everything!" Her fanged teeth were grit against each other now. "They made to help her at first, but once they saw her fangs and felt her skin, th-they..." The words choked up in her throat, refusing to leave. "S-she was just a _child_."

James shook his head again in irritation, about to shut her up before he froze. His mind, a tool trialled and tempered over the years of field experience, pulled up a faint memory.

" _-all hostiles accounted for, captain," a capable looking youth reported crisply._

_James nodded, satisfied as he glanced at the smoking wreck that had been the slaving den. His men had done well. "Good work, I'll make an officer out of you yet, Mister Tombs." The soldier in question grinned, and James' eyes fell to the flash of white in his subordinates hand. "What's that?"_

_Tombs made a vague gesture as he tucked the object into a pouch on the belt of his ICW issued battlemage attire. It looked somewhat like a rather small, albeit sharp, tooth. "Oh, just a souvenir from one of the fuckers we offed." He grinned, although it looked somewhat forced. "Not magical or anything, just a keepsake. I wanna see if my lil' bro might like it, he always goes on about bringing home trophies and shit, y'know Potter?"_

_James perked a brow at the man, before scoffing and turning away, wand flashing to shoot several fireworks in the air as he recalled his team. "Trophies and 'shit'." He drawled, shaking his head as his subordinate paled at his blatant breach of protocol. "Yes corporal, 'Potter' knows."_

James slumped backwards in his chair, his mind going blank as the memory faded. "Oh Merlin, Tombs… what have you done?" It had to be a lie...

He looked at Valaine, finding her eyes still clouded over.

She was still under the potion's effect…

 _She's not lying…_ he realised. _She can't be._ She hadn't the mental fortitude, not if she had broken with such pitiable effort. Running a hand through his hair, James found himself drawing blanks on what to say. _This is it? This is why they're here?_

"I… didn't know." The words slipped from his mouth. Valaine stared at him. "I didn't give that order."

He expected a rebuttal, anger, _something_ other than the strange look she gave him. Her fury had faded during his moment of recollection, his silence having startled her back into timidity.

But now Valaine just _stared_.

"It doesn't matter now," she muttered after a long moment.

James frowned at the ominous tone, but pushed on nevertheless. "I can't bring this girl back, but with enough evidence, I can have those responsible court-marshalled and sentenced for their transgressions." It was an offer, an olive branch of sorts. "Call off your accomplices, and _maybe_ I can fix this mess."

Even as he spoke, his thoughts were filled with the image of a worn looking man, aged beyond his years. _Mooney…_

"You've mistaken me, Valaine. I know well of curses, and how heavy of a burden they are… you've come after the wrong man." James scoffed, eyes drifting away.

She had grown silent, and with each word he spoke her expression grew more and more blank. When James finally looked up at her, he found her eyes seemingly filled with… regret?

"It doesn't matter now," she repeated, even quieter than before.

It was subtle at first, the quickening rise and fall of her chest, however it was only in a small while did Valaine begin to hyperventilate.

James stood from his chair, frowning in confusion. _A panic attack?_ That same, sick sense of suspicion began to bloom in his mind, and his hackles rose."Why do you keep saying that?" he demanded, however she had already begun to babble. "Valaine!"

The harsh shout had her gripping the chair for support, and the potion forced a reply from her drooling lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't want them to! I-I told them that it wasn't right and th-that it wasn't a fair punishment..." her words spilled into each other, panic and sorrow radiating from her demeanour as she rambled almost incoherently.

James felt his blood freeze in his veins. The cold fingers of dread began to claw their way up his back and neck before wriggling like icy worms into his hair.

"Valaine… what did you do?" The forlorn look in her eyes deepened, wetness brimming at its corners as her lips quivered. " _Why_ did you come here?"

Tears fell once more, but this time not out of fear or anger… but guilt.

"A debt repaid." She whispered, her voice hoarse.

" _One child for another._ "


	3. Chapter 2

**Meanwhile…**

Alessandra's hands fidgeted around the neck of her glass, the rings adorning her fingers clicking against it as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. _I should pull him back inside…_

Hovering by the doorway, she glanced around uncomfortably. The mission was a bust, people were dead, and here she was, spying on a pair of teenagers…

Even still, she didn't cease her watch.

Professionally trained _battlemages_ had fallen in instants whilst in plain sight. A Hogwarts student would hardly fare better.

She couldn't fathom how the assailants could have done it. What spell could they have used? And from what kind of range? According to James, it was as if his men had simply ceased to exist.

Even as the thoughts plagued her mind, she had to perk a brow as she watched Delilah apparently 'man up', as it were. _You silly girl… on the cheek of all places._

Alessandra scoffed to herself as Harry recoiled, obviously caught off guard. _What else was she expecting to happe-_

Something _cold_ brushed past her back.

Whirling in alarm with her wand half drawn, Alessandra's eyes darted around warily. A few guests looked her way, her erratic movement having piqued their attention for a moment before they returned to their conversations.

She paid them no heed, and instead focused on calming her racing heart. Had she just imagined it?

She stood around uncertainly for a moment before a breeze suddenly blew in from outside, whispering eerily against her skin as it mingled with the muggy air and rose upwards.

It had been the wind.

Her hiked shoulders slumped as she let out the breath she had been holding. "Pour l'amour de Dieu…"

_I'm on edge_ , Alessandra's brows narrowed. _Of course I'm on edge. This does involve_ _ **Potter**_ _does it not?_

Alessandra couldn't help but hiss lowly under her breath as she pictured James' emotionless face. _And of course, the board places me within_ _ **his**_ _sector as opposed to… to_

She restrained the urge to huff childishly. _Anywhere_ other than Britain would have been fine, although somewhere tropical would have been preferable, of course.

For four years she had to deal with that stuck up, pretentious fool of a man and his ruthless 'tactics'. The mission reports and damage control she had run solely because of his actions had been pure spectacles to witness. Alessandra shook her head as she paced by the manor's entrance. _The man acts as if the war never ended._

She knew why the board ignored his methods, why they allowed him such leeways.

He was _effective_.

James Potter got things done. When the skittish tip-toed around a situation, Potter would stride in with a wand in hand and with a team of glorified soldiers at his back. Yet regardless of his efficiency...

_Using his own son as bait…_ The thought made her skin crawl.

Such savage barbarism may have once been a commodity, but it had been over a decade! _How has he not cleared that fog of war from his thick skull yet?_

Alessandra pursed her lips, coming to a halt as she contemplated on just downing the rest of her wine. However the memory of Potter doing much of the same earlier put her off the idea rather quickly.

A faint blue flash reflected off the crystal of her glass for a second, and Alessandra glanced out the cracked door just in time to see what she assumed to be the Beauxbatons girl's departure. Despite the situation, she couldn't help the smirk that twitched at her lips.

She knew exactly what Harry would be thinking right now, and it _wouldn't_ be what Delilah would like to imagine.

Alessandra sighed, stepping idly out of the way as someone walked by.

_At least there's Harry._ A saving grace of her station, she knew.

Stifling herself, she turned to the doors, ready to usher the young man back inside. She couldn't risk him being by himself any longer, privacy be damn-

She froze.

The doors were already pushed wide open…

Alessandra spun slowly on the spot, eyes straining across the spectrum of faces and bodies for just a mere glimpse of her quarry.

Had she lost him?

_How_ had she lost him?

Panic began to clutch at her as she stepped out from the manor, her heels clicking off the dark stone as she strode out into the night. Why had she let him go out alone? What the _hell_ was wrong with her?

She ignored the sight of the dark cloudfront creeping in from the North, squashing down the superstitious notion of ill omens.

"Harry?" she called, her voice echoing into the surrounding woods. She stepped a few more paces out, feeling the biting chill of the night air nip at her skin as she again drew breath to call out his nam-

' _Drip'_

Blinking, Alessandra reached up to her cheek, wiping at the _warm_ droplet that fell from above. Her fingers came away stained with a viscous red. Something hollow gripped at her soul as she glanced up, and disgust festered in her mind at what she saw.

She was disgusted by the utter _relief_ she felt upon seeing the corpse of the Potter family's elf, instead of…

Alessandra let the thought die, unable to finish it. Retreating, back into the entryway, her eyes fell upon another crimson stain.

One imprinted in the shape of dress boots.

They were _recent_.

Her eyes trailed the tracks, her wand drawing clear from her gown as she followed it back inside the manor where it disappeared into the crowd. Desperation gripped at her as she twisted her wand in front of her, only _barely_ caring if anyone saw.

" _Revelio."_

Her blue eyes speared through the walls of bodies, piercing into every face and looking for flash of green eyes, for the messy head of black-

_There!_

She caught his form, just as he crested the top stair and banked hard to the left. His gait was quick, and his wand was clutched tightly to his side as if he were concealing a knife by his thigh. He had obviously worked out that something was wrong. _He saw the elf,_ she realised.

How could he have slipped by her? She had been standing in _front_ of the door for goodness sake.

Berating herself under her breath, the French witch made to follow as quickly as she could, sliding by guests and servers with a minor degree of grace… more or less. She certainly pitied the toes that had fallen prey to her heels along the way.

She was perhaps halfway through the hall, before she saw _it._

A shadow.

A flicker of flesh and fabric, it's form scattered by the firelight.

If her paranoia hadn't been running at an all-time high, Alessandra would have doubted to have seen it in the first place. She watched as a man, tall and slim, _blurred_ up the stairway. It almost seemed like a mirage.

He couldn't have been more than _ten_ paces behind Harry…

A pump of adrenalin flooded through her veins as the zebrawood of her wand twitched, begging her to let loose a flurry of every curse she knew-

She blinked, and the man was gone. Only the flutter of his coattails gave him away as he stalked after _her_ student.

_NO!_

Alessandra moved, giving chase as quickly as she could without overtly running after the duo. She bounded up the stairs two at a time, her calves burning from her choice in footwear.

She reached the top of the idiotically grandiose stairway, just in time to see the figure disappear around the far bend. Cursing, Alessandra _ran_ , kicking her heels off as she went.

Freed, her feet moved quicker as she padded through the familiar halls, before eventually spying the man as he slipped into a room some ways down. She ran up to the door with soft feet, her gown that once felt like a perfect fit now hugging rather uncomfortably against her form. Her sense of discomfort vanished, replaced by _dread_ as the sounds of shattered glass accompanied by a wounded hiss wormed its way into her ear.

Wand raised, Alessandra stepped clear around the doorway...

-and flinched as a spatter of blood slapped a crimson line across her face.

* * *

Red met green, their eyes clashing against each other like smouldering coals pit against viscous poison.

Both individuals froze, and Harry simply stared at the man who no doubt must have _followed_ him to end up behind him in such a manner.

The individual looked young, perhaps in his early twenties… but there was an aged hunger in his eyes. Harry felt very much like he was being stared down by a wolf, one starved and salivating at the prospect of a fresh kill.

The stranger raised a hand to his mouth, and spoke into his cufflink. "I found him," he whispered softly.

Before Harry could even register the words, the man's red eyes flashed, suddenly coming to life with a vibrant flood of energy.

Harry stumbled backwards, his head recoiling and his eyes rolling up as if struck. His brain was set alight with a desire that made his throat clam up, and his fingers curl. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, and he idly registered the other individual smiling in an amused sort of satisfaction as he stepped forwards.

_**Danger…** _

His mind froze to a halt. The erotic dreams that were flashing through his head slowly faded into the backdraft as a voice whispered into the back of his head. A voice he didn't recognise, but felt familiar all the same.

_Danger?_ he quizzed, baffled... before the pleasant heat that was flushing through his body suddenly turned _frigid_. Harry's eyes widened as he realised what was happening and with a slighted sense of desperation, he raked at the hazy visions filling his head, watching as they ripped apart like shredded photos.

His sight returned, the room coming into clarity just in time to see a look of _utter_ shock spread across the other individual's porcelain features. The enticing glow in his eyes sputtered out like overwhelmed embers.

The shock was quickly replaced by fury.

"How _dare_ you presume to resist me." It came out as a slithering hiss, like steel against steel.

Harry stumbled backwards as he struggled to digest the words, his head still swimming from… whatever had been done to him. He could faintly hear James' voice in his head, _screaming_ at him to move, to fight, to run, to do anything.

He opened his mouth to speak, and promptly flinched as the stranger suddenly _lunged._ Like a shifting mass of liquid, he seemed to almost blur through the space between them.

In doing so, he revealed two large incisors that flashed in the moonlight.

The wand that had remained stuck by Harry's side rose desperately, however _too_ late.

A harsh _'smack!'_ echoed through the room as his wand was battered aside, and shards of Holly scattered across the carpet. A hand like a vice gripped around his collar, and in an instinctual reaction fuelled by both fear and anger, Harry's own hand shot up.

' _Crack!'_

A morbidly numb pain pulsed through his fist as it made contact.

However, as his attacker's head snapped up from the blow, Harry's eyes tracked a shattered fragment of ivory as it flew through the air.

He was almost drawn to it, watching with a sick sense of fascination before the grip around his collar tightened. Harry blinked, and idly registered for a split second that he was weightless, before the world suddenly got colder around him as he crashed clean through the glass door.

He was saved from the three-story fall by the stone railing as he _slammed_ against it.

The breath was buffeted from his lungs as he heard, rather than felt something snap in his side. _A rib most likely,_ he ruminated, weirdly lucid.

Lines of pain suddenly erupted across his front, and Harry's eyes opened to find a strangely beautiful cascade of shimmering glass falling over him like lethal drops of rain.

A harsh flash of white blinded him from above, and he flinched as spatters of cold began to splash across his face. _Heh, It's actual rain..._

He baulked inwardly, even as the awry thought passed through his mind. Was he growing delirious?

He wasn't offered the time to ponder as the crunch of footfall on glass accompanied by the boom of thunder snapped him back to reality. His heart began to thump painfully in his chest as his fingers scrabbled amongst the shards of shattered glass, searching for something, _anything._

"You chose this." Harry looked up, breath faltering slightly in his throat as he watched the figure approach. He wasn't so immaculate anymore, with his shattered front teeth and one broken fang. "Your father chose this." A foot stepped clear into the space between Harry's legs as he reached down to drag the boy closer to his face. It was how he missed Harry's fingers gripping around something large, and _sharp_. "They want me to give you the _kiss_ , but I'd much rather just bleed you like a stuck pi-"

The man froze. His sunken, flaring red eyes widened as they shifted to the side and took in the large shard of glass coming for his throat. Blood ran down the crystalline blade in tiny rivers, originating from the cut up flesh of Harry's fingers as he forced himself to grip it tight.

_**Not the vein… the artery instead…** _

The command echoed through his head and subconsciously, Harry's hand twitched in correction.

The grip on his shirt slackened, and the stranger recoiled.

Pain flared through Harry's hand as he felt the point of his improvised weapon pierce _something_ , and he was forced to let go before the sharp edges of the glass severed his fingers. His back thudded into the floor once again, eliciting a hiss of pain from Harry as he felt hundreds of tiny needles dig into his spine.

He was left to stare at the roiling sky above once again, and this time, his wandering mind marvelled at how pleasant the icy droplets felt on his battered body.

A splatter of red liquid fell across his chest, _colder_ even than the rain itself. The adrenalin began to fade, the exhaustion and excruciating pain beginning to overcome its effects.

' _Snap!'_

The sharp noise however pierced the fog cloud in Harry's mind. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he craned his head up-

-and met a red gaze, filled with _hate_.

The stranger was holding a portion of the glass shard, having snapped it out of his neck leaving the point still firmly embedded in the flesh.

He was still very much alive, however…

_**Missed… both.** _

Harry's head slumped back, nestling into the glass-ridden floor in a feeling he could only describe as… disappointment. _Well there goes that._ He snorted softly, before wheezing in agony as the small action caused his broken rib to jostle slightly in his chest.

A rattling, hacking cough pierced his thoughts once again, and Harry felt his lip curl back in irritation. Why did the man always have something to say?

"You insole _-"_

" _Imperio!_ "

The presence looming over Harry suddenly withdrew, and his wandering eyes refocused to stare once again at his attacker. The man had gone ramrod straight, a pleasant expression over his features that was conflicting darkly with his red glare.

"Get _away_ from him."

Harry swallowed thickly at the shaky hiss. It was filled with that quiet sort of fury that could make someone's skin prickle. It was only when his attacker began to shamble backwards, did Harry realise _he_ wasn't the one being scolded.

He lifted his head from the stone floor, blinking owlishly as he stared at the form of Alessandra Tremblay standing in the doorway.

Her eyes were locked on him, and her face had slackened into one of hopeless misery.

What was she looking at?

He followed her gaze, and glanced down at his body for the first time. _Huh…_

His shirt had fallen away into mere rags, and dozens of pieces of glass were buried into his skin. They looked gruesome, but they weren't deep, evident as one simply fell out as he shifted. It was the rather large, hand-wide shard of glass jutting from his stomach that made the bile rise to his throat.

Terrifyingly… he could barely feel it.

He looked back up to the other occupants in the room, and noticed two things simultaneously.

The expression on the stranger's face was fading as his eyes flashed wildly...

And Alessandra wasn't paying _attention_. She seemed transfixed on him, shell-shocked at his state.

He opened his mouth to cry out in warning, but all that came out was a croaky garble of mangled words. It jolted the woman into action, and to Harry's dismay, her wand lowered as she made to run over to him-

The stranger suddenly recoiled as if struck, and his dullened features contorted into an ugly scowl as he broke free from the unforgivable. He turned, surprising the woman who had been about to brush past him. Alessandra jumped, surprise etched on her face as she fumbled over a spell.

His hand snapped up with a nearly supernatural speed, tearing the wand from her grip and tossing it across the room. The other hand shot up and clasped around her jaw, cutting off her cry of pain as he shoved her roughly against the wall.

His eyes were alight with a dark fire, a twisted heat that desired fuel for its rampage.

Unbeknownst to him, a blaze of its own had come alight elsewhere. It burned _cold_.

An agonised groan left Harry's lips as he forced himself up, using the cracked stone of the railing as support. He looked around in an almost frenzied manner, searching for _anything_ he could possibly use. His eyes fell upon the wand across the room.

A strangled gasp wormed its way into his ear, and he chanced a glance to find Alessandra, her face paling in terror as the stranger's mouth unhinged not unlike a snake's. A gleaming set of fangs that were shattered on the right hand side revealed themselves as he did so.

The panic that was flooding Harry abruptly faded as he heard his awfully faint heartbeat thumping in his ears, bringing with it another bizarre moment of clarity.

Thump-thump… The stranger's jaw cracked as it finished opening, the muscles stretching to accommodate.

_The wand!_

Thump-thump… Alessandra slapped at his face, her nails digging into wherever she could reach as her feet kicked uselessly at his shins.

_It's too far…_

Thump-thump… The stranger's grip shifted to her head, forcing it to the side with nightmarish strength and baring her throat in the process. Alessandra's eyes landed on Harry.

_I won't make it,_ he realised.

Thump-thump… Harry glanced around, looking for another shard of glass. They were all too small, just mere fragments. The stranger's head lowered.

_It doesn't matter, MOVE!_

Thump… thump… He stumbled forwards, his gait lurching uneasily. _There must be glass in my legs_ , he rationalised. His eyes suddenly widened, and a thought struck him.

The sound of flesh tearing echoed through the room as Alessandra let out a silent scream.

-and Harry's fingers wrapped around the blade of glass embedded into his stomach…

* * *

Rain pattered against lancet windows.

" _Homenum Revelio._ "

Features growing taut, James whipped around, wand raised and pointed dead ahead. The glowing tip pressed into something he couldn't see, but knew was there.

"Should have attacked when you had the chance," he chided distastefully, " _Circumrota._ "

The incantation left his lips, and a sickening _'Crunch!'_ sounded out through the dimly lit hallway they were in, before something heavy hit the floor. James watched dispassionately as the vampire's invisibility fell from its corpse like water running off a leaf, revealing a middle aged woman in an eye-catching dress who _should_ have been staring up at him with lifeless eyes.

She was forced instead to stare at the carpet now, her head having been forcefully rotated clockwise in an unsettling display of twisted skin and jutting vertebrae.

_There's another one, isn't there?_

"Awfully confident bunch of creatures, aren't you?" James called out to seemingly no one, polishing his wand on his sleeve as he took slow, almost arrogant steps down the hall. The music from the party was incredibly dull, indicating that they were deep in the bowels of the manor.

No answer came to him as he tutted. "To think such vermin would infest my home..." He shook his head, hiding the ghastly look in his eyes as he pointed to where the corpse lay. "Was it that pathetic creature back there that murdered my elf?" he taunted. "The slaves are a sickle a seven of course, but I suppose I might as well sell her _ingredients_ to the highest bidder as recompense."

Again, no reply came.

Inwardly, James sighed. _Fine then..._

His feet came to a steady stop. "That Valaine whore revealed to me why you were here, even called herself a 'countess' as if she wasn't some lowborn peasant." A fabricated grin crawled across his features. "I managed to decipher her confessions amidst the _screams_." His grip on his wand tightened as the shadows around him began to stir. "I assumed that you were here for a somewhat valid reason-" His muscles coiled beneath his robes as an audible growl echoed through the hall, sourceless. _Out you come._ "Instead, I learn that you filth sully my home tonight over another pitiful wretch of your ilk, euthanised as deserved."

The windows _shattered,_ punctuated by a flash of lightning as the creeping thunderstorm rolled overhead.

Glass fell from every single one of the cathedral-esque windows, just as every door along the hallway slammed open of their own accord with a cacophonous ' _Bang!_ '

Rain swept in through the shattered windows as the dark sky gurgled angrily above.

A roar of unreal proportions, twisted and muddied by _cursed_ magic tore at the air in its efforts to reach James, who spun with his wand raised to its source. His eyes widened at what he saw.

A creature, or perhaps a _monster,_ had dropped from the tall ceiling.

Bipedal, with clawed feet that gouged divots into the polished floor, it began sprinting towards him.

James watched in a detached, sick sort of fascination as the mutated creature sprouted what looked to be stunted wings from its back as it ran. Skeletal and dripping with gore, the appendages flailed wildly like the arms of an eldritch newborn.

Two _enraged_ beady eyes could be seen from the sunken pits of its protruding brow, its terrifying face resembling a cross between a fanged serpent and a raving dog.

A scream tore from its throat. It was a horrible sound, pitched down and thrumming with hatred.

In comparison, the Lord Potter's voice was stone cold. " _Oppugno Maxima._ "

His wand swept forwards, and all of the thousands upon thousands of little glass shards that had blanketed the hallway's floor rose up into the air.

The creature just barely fifty feet away, faltered, for but a moment.

A supersonic _'crack!'_ echoed through the air and James blinked as half a ton of shattered glass _exploded_ forwards, hurtling with reckless abandon towards its designated enemy.

His eyes opened, just in time to see a cloud of red mist slowly falling to the floor.

James watched as the halls of his childhood home ran red with blood. However, the feeling of remorse was overcome by the insulted rage that simmered beneath his skin. _They chose to come after Harry_. _They_ _ **chose**_ _this._

He paused, his eyes flashing with a sudden influx of magic as the manor's wards activated.

Vampires didn't often favour wizarding magic, it conflicted harshly against their own _twisted_ mutation of it.

_So who just cast an unforgivable in my home?_

Would a guest dare to do such a thing? It was unlikely. One would have to be mad to assume a pureblood home didn't have charms set up to detect such foul magicks.

Unless that was the point…

' _You'll need to submit a Gringotts signed report on this place's enchantments by the following morning, Potter. I need to know if they are at least adequate if I'm to be accommodated here.'_

Alessandra's displeased voice echoed through his head.

James' eyes widened, and not a second later he was sprinting as if the devil himself was on his tail. He didn't even bother turning as he neared a corner, instead, his wand flourished wildly.

In one moment, sound vanished as a silencing charm was thrown up against the wall.

In the next, the flourish finished with a thrust as an angry orange glow roared to life on his wand tip. " _Bombarda!_ "

Soundlessly, the wall exploded into splinters and flaming stone, although James ignored both as he vaulted through the fiery breach. The music began to grow louder as he ran faster and faster, _blasting_ his way through his ancestor's home like a freight train.

The flashing memory of green eyes filled his mind. _I'm coming._

His muscles burned with an acidic fire as his pace somehow increased, fuelled by desperation. _You keep him safe, Tremblay._

Another wall crumpled before him as his features began to shift and warp, antlers sprouting from his skull as he transitioned from man to beast.

_I'm coming…_

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

Foreboding yellow eyes peered out of the darkness as he walked. His gait was slow and deliberate, akin to a predator stalking its wounded prey.

Only the prey was somewhat, nonexistent… so far.

It made little sense, how could the child not be present at the father's event?

Mister Graham came to a pause as the flashes of lightning spilled over him from one of the windows. He took in the powerful light, allowing it to flicker across his weathered features. If it wasn't for his immaculate suit, one may have mistook him for a working class man.

The light suddenly turned harsh as _something_ emerged from the downpour. A luminous, almost spectral looking frog hopped through the glass as if it didn't exist, coming to a floating stop before him at head level.

Mister Graham growled lowly as the magical 'thing' irritated his skin with its presence, although he bore it without complaint. A second passed before the frog's mouth opened, and the voice of the hired mercenary echoed through the area. He sounded panicked, and _loud_ , likely from having to contend with the thunderstorm outside. The poor sod was having ill of it up on the roof.

" _It seems that we have gravely underestimated our enemy, Mister Graham."_

The vampire in question drew in an irritated breath, waiting patiently for the bad news.

" _The tracking charms on Lady Valaine, Miss Argell, and Mister Dunes have all been erased, presumably with their deaths."_

The sound of creaking leather echoed through the hall, the noise originating from Mister Graham's fist as it clenched tightly.

" _Mister Jacobs' charm also dissipated just moments ago, however he managed to relay that he had found_ _your_ _target."_

He stiffened.

" _His tracker disappeared due east of your current position, up one floor and roughly three hundred feet away."_

A sneer spread over Mister Graham's harsh features.

" _There must have been more guards stationed in case something went wrong… either way, I would advise retreat."_

The sneer vanished, replaced instead by narrowed brows. _Of course you would, damned nance._

" _My apologies, however it seems that_ _my_ _organisation's target is no longer within your capabilities to neutralise."_ A pause. " _To that end, our contract has unfortunately been terminated. It was a pleasure working with you, Mister Graham."_

The frog then vanished, dissipating into ethereal smoke.

The silence stretched, and the air seemed to become denser by the second as the large vampire's jaw clenched tight. The tracking charm on his body faded, dissipating like motes of dust blown away in the wind.

"Ain't that just a kick in the head?" His voice was soft still, however the low rumble of anger penetrated the notes.

His head turned towards the direction he had come… where his companions lay murdered, and where their target yet drew breath. His feet actually shifted in the direction, before he restrained himself with an audible breath.

"Unfortunate," he whispered, "-but fury alone will not carry one through to the end." Each word was punctuated with a tug on each gloved finger as he pulled the garment off.

Chest inflating with a calming breath, Mister Graham stepped towards the large window, placing a calloused palm against it. The slightest application of his strength had it shattering before him, allowing the raging elements access into the manor proper.

He ignored the rain and wind that whipped at his form.

"Well done, Red Buck of Godric's Hollow," Mister Graham conceded a nod. _I must seek penance for my failure tonight, and then… then the hunt shall resume._

The vampire stepped out into the night, dropping from the second floor and landing with a grimace on the sodden ground. The lash called for his hide, but before he harkened to it, there was yet blood to be spilled before the sun rose.

He had a filthy, traitorous yank to dismember.

* * *

She was losing blood… a lot of it.

A large chunk of flesh had been torn from her neck, leaving the wound messy and weeping precious amounts of red ichor.

None of the clothes, drapes nor even the damned bedsheets in his room would stem the flow. The panic began to flood back into Harry as gripped Alessandra's wand, hand shaking slightly. _Did he get her arteries?_ He asked in his mind, trying desperately to remain calm, to apply reason and counteract the mounting hysteria.

He ignored the way his vision swam, and the blood pooling around his own form.

He chanced another glance behind the makeshift bandages, and promptly recoiled as her heart pumped once more, sending out another little squirt of blood. _He must have…_

She was dying.

She had saved his life, at the expense of her ow-

A cold hand gripped his own weakly, and he glanced down to find Alessandra looking up at him from the floor of his chambers with sad eyes. Tears ran freely down her sculpted cheeks, and he could see her desperately trying to smile. The muscles in her face weren't co-operating.

Dark, almost black blood spilled from her lips. It fell across his hands, and he winced at how cold it was. Why was it so cold when the rest of her blood was warm? Why was it so dark-

_**Letting… die?** _

The skeptical questions were abruptly forgotten as rage soared through Harry. He wanted to rip into his own damned brain and strangle the voice in his head. What was he expected to do? He wasn't a _healer_ , he couldn't reverse time with a snap-

_**Kill her… gentle death...** _

The panic left his mind.

His hand ceased shaking.

_No._ It was a whisper of resilience. But it was there. Harry latched onto it, like a moth desperate for a flame in an endless darkness. The fire was cold, yet _bright_.

Something frigid came to life in his eyes as his grip on Alessandra's wand tightened, enough to make the wood creak in protest. He ignored it, gripping even tighter. The wand didn't match him… it didn't _like_ him, but it didn't have a choice.

It would _**obey**_.

He pulled the cloth away from Alessandra's neck. He raised her wand, and no spell came to his mind.

Alessandra's grip on his hand slackened…

-and Harry pushed.

He didn't know what he was doing, but he _pushed_. Magic surged through him as his eyes sparked. Nothing left his lips, not even a breath. The wand tip didn't even move, not to form a fancy motion or flourish or anything…

But he _pushed_.

The capillaries in his eyes burst, blurring his already dazed vision heavily as he forced himself to keep going. It felt like there was poison in his veins, slowly corroding away at him from the inside.

The smell of burning ozone flooded through the air, and idly, Harry realised that his bedchambers were on fire. Green sparks of what looked like electricity flashed through the room, shattering windows, scorching the walls and setting the red, lavish carpet aflame.

The flames burned like venom, as if they had been scattered with floo powder.

He felt something screaming around him, something old, something ancient. Like bubbles floating through a forest of thorns, _things_ began to pop around him one by one.

His grip on the wand dissipated as it lost its rigidity. He was holding naught but sawdust now…

Yet the maelstrom of magic didn't dissipate until-

_**...Interesting…** _

Like a candle snuffed out in the wind, the lights in Harry's head went out as the voice snapped him from his trance. The wild electricity faded abruptly as the green flames reduced to mere embers.

His _smoking_ form crumpled, the eyes rolling up in his head as he collapsed on top of Alessandra's still body. His head clattered against hers. The blood that was seeping from his wounds cascaded across her face, trickling over her cold lips and slipping down across her tongue just as the door to his room was blown from its hinges.

He ignored it, however.

He ignored the scream of ' _HARRY!'_

He ignored the hands shaking him desperately, begging him to wake up.

He ignored the feeling of being twisted apart at a molecular level as he was side-along disapparated.

All he could picture were the dead, lifeless eyes of Alessandra Tremblay. He had failed.

Darkness took him.

* * *

**St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England, Great Britain**

James sat silently, eyes staring dully at the tiled floor of St. Mungos Wizarding Hospital. He was still dressed in his fine robes, though it was stained with blood that rather poetically blended into the fabric's colour. None of it was his own.

Some of it belonged to supernatural monsters.

Some of it belonged to his son.

And some of it belonged to the woman who had been _killed_ protecting his son from James' own fallacies.

His eyes tore away from the once clean floors that were now sullied by the red droplets that fell from his coat. His gaze fell over to Harry's unconscious form.

He was alive.

James didn't know how… there was so much _fucking_ glass in his body. Two broken ribs, dozens upon dozens of lacerations, severe blood loss, mental and physical exhaustion, a ruptured stomach and shredded abdominal muscles and- and then there was the damned magical damage to boot. His head shook, in part disbelief and part awe.

He had felt it the moment it happened, and could scarcely believe it all the same.

Harry had pierced a hole in the wards. A small one, barely large enough for James to disapparate the wounded through, but a _hole_ nonetheless.

Anti-apparition charms, detection triggers, protection matrices, and wards that he couldn't even begin to fathom that had been standing for centuries had been poked clean through. Idly, James figured that the thunderstorm _may_ have smothered the moment.

It was an incredible feat, a showcase of incredible willpower and magical tolerance.

It was something that would _terrify_ James Potter for the rest of his life, for it had nearly killed his only child.

His ineptitude, his arrogance, his ignorance had forced Harry to do this. He doubted the boy even knew what the hell he was doing.

"Lord Potter?"

He tore his eyes away from Harry, to glance at the mediwitch that was hovering uncomfortably by the door. His blank, icy features didn't change. "Yes?"

She shifted again, from foot to foot. "He'll be fine, my Lord. His wounds are already mending, his body is suffering from an extreme case of radiation poisoning and magical damage, but he is expected to make a full _physical_ recovery." She looked terrible, her hair frazzled and her face flecked with Harry's blood. "The bloodloss was the most worrying of his injuries, he removed a large shard of glass at one point. If only he had left it where it was…"

James nodded slowly, digesting the information. He could hazard a guess as to _why_ Harry had done such a thing, if the corpse he had found along the way hinted at anything. "I understand." He swallowed. "And… the woman?"

_The woman?_ Hatred festered in the pit of his stomach. _Say her name, you coward! SAY IT!_

His lips didn't move.

"She's been declared deceased. I'm sorry."

"Oh." He wanted to punch himself. _Oh? She died for Harry, and all you could think of was 'Oh'?_

"An enquiry will have to be made by the DMLE in the morning, my lord. Would you like St. Mungos to handle the process of con-"

"No." James stood abruptly, maybe a little too quickly he figured as the shaky nurse jumped slightly. He gave her a sad, placating smile, "I shall take responsibility, and handle the funeral." He sucked in a breath. "May I see her?"

She hesitated for a moment, before reluctantly nodding. He was grateful, she was likely going against procedure.

She escorted him into the room across the hall, "I'll be just on the other side. It's late, I don't expect too much of an issue should you need to take your time," she said softly, before closing the door behind him.

James stared at the door for a moment. She was a nice girl, likely fresh out of Hogwarts. He would see her properly rewarded for her kindness.

Turning away, he stepped slowly over to the crisp white hospital bed. It was a small room, reserved for a single patient.

His hands fell to the sheets, balling them up in his fists. It was clear that they didn't even bother operating on her. She had been dead before they even left the manor. His eyes fell to the gruesome chunk taken out of her neck, and he could clearly see the external carotid artery that had been ripped open. He shook his head, pitying Harry for his efforts.

James doubted that he could have even done anything himself.

His fingers reached out to brush away the hazel lock of hair stuck to her incredibly pale face, before flinching in surprise at the _icy_ cold touch of her skin. His face fell. To think of how much trouble he had caused her…

He stewed in silence for a moment, his mind blank. No thoughts, nor words were coming to him.

Eventually, he glanced at the clock on the wall, and cursed under his breath. He had been gone from the party for nearly an _hour_. He had to clean himself up and get back there.

Grimset, James turned, making for the door.

Something cold latched onto his hand.

Goosebumps rippled up his back, and his heart began to pound at his ribcage.

" _P-potter?_ "

He turned, a hopeless, tortured look in his eyes.

..and sitting upright, crisp linen bundled against her midsection, was the terrified, pale, and _red-eyed_ Alessandra Tremblay.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, and immediately began to sting. He opened his mouth, desperate for air and felt his heart constrict in shock as glacial water flooded his lungs.

He recoiled with a strangled gasp, retching and heaving as his reddening eyes blinked madly. It took a few moments, but eventually his coughing ceased and his sight cleared.

He finally took in his surroundings, and one brow climbed up his forehead in monumental confusion.

He was on his knees at the edge of a small lake, in a… forest.

It was dead. Not just the forest itself, but seemingly _everything._

The ground was not dirt, but what looked to be soot and ash. Cinders fell from the sky, like strangely beautiful butterflies set aflame. The trees were black and burnt, endless in number.

He glanced at the water, watching the ripples in the black liquid flutter across the surface from his panicked actions.

_It's so dark… it must be deep._

Bizarrely, Harry felt a mad urge to dive in and test his theory.

Shaking his head and glancing at the water with a suspicious eye, he stood, dusting the ash from his front. It only served to smear the clingy material into his trousers further, much to his chagrin.

_Where am I?_

It was a reasonable question to ask, considering the circumstances. He knew James had found him… so where did the madman take him? He should be in a damned hospital or something, considering his wounds-

His eyes widened as he glanced down at the ragged cut in his stomach... or the ragged cut that _should_ have been there, at least. Strangely, he was completely unharmed. Even his shirt was intact, buttoned up and tucked cleanly. It was almost as if he hadn't gone toe to toe with a…

_Vampire?_

Is that what the man had been? It seemed so, it ticked the boxes except… it was startling how _real_ the notion was. He scoffed lightly at that, the thought made him feel like a muggle.

" _Indeed it does_."

Harry whipped around, and far across the lake on the other side of the bank he found a figure standing, watching him. It resembled a human, though it was made of what looked to be hazy, blackened smoke. The form seemed to struggle to even stay coherent at times.

Harry felt that the voice was oddly familiar…

"Who…" He paused. _What the hell am I supposed to say here?_ The figure stood patiently, content to wait for him. He decided to stick to the classics. "Who are you? And where am I?"

The figure scoffed lightly in amusement. " _Who do you think I am?"_

Harry frowned. "I'm not in the mood to bandy words." He glanced around warily, though kept the figure in his periphery. "Especially not with someone who looks like he should cut back on the cigarettes."

" _Not in the mood for it, yet you bandy your words regardless."_ A sniff. " _How quaint."_

Harry's eye twitched. Opting to remain silent, he just shrugged in response.

The figure shook his head, in apparent amusement. " _I had forgotten how immature children were._ "

"Children being childish is a concept that slipped your mind?" Harry taunted. "Memory must not be your strongest facet then."

The figure snorted at that, it reminded Harry vaguely of his own mannerisms. " _Perhaps, although that is to be expected."_ The stranger's smoky head suddenly turned to Harry, and he abruptly changed the topic. " _An impressive feat you just pulled, some would say impossible, even._ "

Harry's brow furrowed in slight confusion, before it clicked. _Is he referring to-_

" _Yes, I am._ "

Harry blinked, stunned. _Legilimency?_ He looked away immediately.

" _Hmph, how cute."_ The figure eventually chuckled as Harry rotated fully, not facing him anymore. " _Turning your back to a potential threat? That's not very smart."_

Harry made a lackadaisical gesture. "What does it matter? I have nothing to defend myself with anyway," he spat distastefully, remembering his shattered wand.

" _Yes, our… your wand was broken. Shameful, both the act_ _and_ _the wizard that let it happen."_

Still looking into the depths of the burnt forest, Harry inhaled deeply, ignoring the goading words. If the man was still in his head at this point, then it didn't really matter where he was loo-

" _Exactly, now turn around you silly fool._ "

Harry sighed. He couldn't tell if he liked the eccentricity or not. He turned, wondering if there was even a point in using his voice."How are you reading my thoughts, if not for legilimency?"

The figure regarded him for a moment, before shrugging. " _I don't rightly know…"_

A weird urge to laugh surged through Harry, although he repressed it. Why was it that the first honest answer out of the stranger was one that only provoked more questions? How irritating. What an _irritating_ person, if _it_ even was a person.

" _That's hardly fair, I haven't told a lie yet._ "

Harry pursed his lips and gestured around him. "I asked where I was. I asked who you were," he reminded. "Whilst I'm at it, _what_ are you?"

The man shrugged again. Harry started to find the gesture extremely annoying. " _The lack of an answer doesn't constitute a falsity._ "

Harry snorted, turning and beginning to walk away. He had better things to do than this, like perhaps figuring out just _what_ was going on.

" _Well that's just rude…_ " Harry kept walking. " _Oh fine! To answer your questions: I don't know, I don't know, and believe it or not, I don't know."_

Harry paused, brow quirking. "You don't know where we are? Or who you are? Or what you are?"

The smoky figure shook its head.

_What the hell?_

" _Indeed._ "

Harry frowned. "Speaking of rude, stop that."

" _That request would require a mutual agreement, in that I may be able to comply if you simply stopped thinking._ "

A moment of silence passed as Harry just regarded the figure with a baffled expression. _Just what the fuck is going on here..._

" _I don't kno-"_

" **I SAID STOP THAT!** "

His voice boomed with the ferocity of a thunderstorm. The calm, still surface of the water exploded with frothing waves, in tandem with the shuddering, creaking groan of woodgrain.

Harry recoiled, his stress-induced anger vanishing as he rotated slowly on the spot, eyes wide.

Every single blackened tree had seemingly shifted, _all_ their branches had bent and now pointed towards Harry like wicked, accusing fingers.

A rumble began to echo somewhere far off to his left, like a distant earthquake.

The figure shifted uneasily as the rumbling grew louder and louder. " _Fair to say, I think you've made your point._ "

Harry shook his head, staring in the direction of the noise. It slowly morphed into something rhythmic, like… footsteps. "I'm not doing that."

" _That's a funny jest._ "

"I'm serious."

The rumbling booms grew louder, and Harry watched in disbelief as a dozen or so trees were suddenly flung high into the sky, tossed up as if a child had thrown their toys in a tantrum. Vibrations began to thud into the ground, rippling the water with each of the colossal footfalls.

" _Oh dear..._ "

"Should we run?"

A weirdly twisted chirping noise began to whisper through the blackened woods, its pitch shifting abstractly as if someone was playing a faulty record. Both figures watched as far off in the distance, the landscape began to grow dark.

It was getting closer at an alarming rate.

Harry chanced a glance to the smokey figure, only to baulk as he found the opposite bank empty. The chirping grew louder as the distant booms shook the earth harder…

Pedalling backwards, Harry stumbled before turning and _fleeing_.

* * *

James just stared, his eyes blank.

_This is a cruel joke._

"Potter?"

Dead eyes shifted to her. "Yes?"

Alessandra let go of his wrist, glancing down at her pasty hand in confusion. She brought her fingers to her neck, wincing in both pain and shock as her finger slipped into the gaping wound in her neck. Tears began to pool at her eyes as she glanced up at him helplessly. She felt so _cold_ …

"W-what's happening?" she whimpered.

Her lost, terrified voice made him blink.

_Wake up Prongs._

Her mouth opened, attempting to speak but no words came.

_Wake up Prongs._

"Why is it so cold in here?"

_**WAKE UP PRONGS!** _

James flinched, the haze over his mind evaporating as the light returned to his hazel eyes. Snapping back to attention, he took a few steps closer back towards the bed. "Take it easy," he whispered, not knowing to whom he was speaking. "You've been through a lot."

"What happened to me? Where's Ha-" Alessandra froze. Her crimson eyes were wild as her head whipped around, searching the room. "Where's Harry!? He's gravely wound-"

"He's safe," James said quickly. "You... saved his life."

The stress seemed to leave Alessandra as her shoulders slumped in relief. "Dieu merci," she whispered. She then turned to James, who had transfigured his pocket square with a flick of his wand. "What are you doing?"

He didn't reply, instead holding out what was now a small and thin mirror.

"I'm sorry."

The words were spoken with remorse, and a great deal of softness. It made Alessandra's spine crawl with unease. James Potter was _not_ a soft, caring man. She tore her eyes away from him, and looked into the mirror.

Her breath froze in her throat.

She saw nothing…

She looked back up to him, confusion etched upon her features, and with a grim expression did James tap his wand against the back of the mirror. It turned an opaque white not unlike a tile, and slowly, an image began to draw itself onto the surface.

Alessandra stilled as it finished.

Eyes, ruby red and bloodshot stared back at her. Like _his._

Skin, as pale as snow and smooth as ceramic. Like _his._

Her pink lips had parted, revealing enlarged canines that came to a frightening point. Like _his_.

No blood flowed from the gaping chunk torn from her neck, almost as if her heart wasn't pumping. She swallowed, and suddenly realised how cold it felt going down her throat. Her tongue felt like a foreign object in her mouth, numb and unfeeling.

The tile slipped from her fingers, bouncing across the white linen sheets and shattering across the floor. There was a startled shift from the other side of the door, and it began to open-

" _Stupefy._ "

A flash of red slammed into the concerned young nurse who stepped into the room. Her body would have crumpled harshly to the floor, was she not suddenly levitated up into the air and gently laid against the wall. The door closed shut of its own accord.

Alessandra's eyes shifted to the man beside her, who had averted his gaze from her as he sheathed his wand.

"I'm…" it was on her tongue, but it wouldn't leave her mouth. "That man he-"

James said nothing, but his head nodded fractionally. He looked haggard, worn down.

Silence reigned for a long, aching moment.

Eventually, Alessandra opened her mouth.

"Does Harry know?"

James shrugged. "I doubt it, he blew a hole in the wards trying to…" He paused. What _had_ Harry been trying to do? "Well, I don't know exactly. Regardless, he was unconscious by the time I got to him."

Alessandra didn't respond for a long time, mulling over his words with an expressionless face. "Where is my wand?" she said suddenly.

The tone had James glancing up, brows furrowing.

"Those _wretched_ creatures will pay for this." The words came out as a slithering hiss, flecked with hatred. It unnerved James more than if she had just screamed the words. "Give me my wand."

"You're too late." As Alessandra's head snapped towards him, James regarded her wild glare with a steady expression. "I've dealtwith them already, the last one has likely fled by now."

"Good," she whispered. "He can lead us to the rest of his kind."

James' lips thinned at the suggestion, but he said nothing to refute her. It was wrong, he knew. It was a tainted, highly emotional mindset Alessandra was in, yet… he couldn't help but feel the same. In a single night, they had nearly taken _everything_ from him.

"He will," James promised. "I'll make sure of i-"

" _You_ will keep your fucking hands out of this!" she snapped. "Haven't you meddled enough, you insufferable man?"

James lowered his head, allowing her rage to run its course.

The venom spilled from her mouth for a long while, her words cutting harshly against his hide. For a long time, she had seemed like such a _weak_ , pathetic creature. Ignorant to horrors of the world and ignorant of the sacrifices he had made. She never understood what it took. _She_ was simply the pencil pushing, nagging, deskbound fool that would never be capable of stepping forth a single foot should she dare to don his skin.

But now… now she had tasted the bitter reality. Now her words had merit.

It was only when silence took the room again, did James finally look up at her. Her tirade had exhausted her, and tears tracked down her cheeks once again.

"What will you do now?" he asked quietly. Quiet enough to relay that he had _heard_ her, for once.

Alessandra laughed mirthlessly. "I don't know, _Lord_ Potter," she spat. "My career, my _life,_ is over… I will be discharged and stripped of everything once the board finds out-"

"And if they don't?"

Alessandra froze. Her head turned slowly to regard the impassive looking James. "What do you mean by that?" He didn't respond, and Alessandra's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You are obligated to report this. _You_ of all people wouldn't hesitate to do so."

He shook his head levelly. "I owe you a debt that I can never repay," he stated. "Whatever you wish of me in regards to your condition, I will see it done."

Alessandra's eyes widened in alarm. "W-what?" What James was offering was ludicrous… the risk he was taking could amount to treason! He would be sentenced to _Numengard_ for breaking his oaths as an ICW officer. "Have you gone mad? I _died_ , the staff must have declared it. You can't just change their minds!"

A lost, almost detached look entered James' eyes. "Wrong," he whispered.

He turned, and drew his wand.

A few steps carried him over to the slumped, unconscious form of the nurse and Alessandra shifted in her cot.

What was he doing?

" _Obliviate._ "

Shock hit her like a truck, her eyes locked on James as the man ripped through the poor girl's memories. His face was dark, haunted as he committed a depraved breach against humanity.

She slipped out of the hospital bed, padding numbly to where he stood.

"Wait here," he ordered, staring at the sweat-streaked, tear-stained face of the girl he had just mentally violated. Internally, his own mind bent and twisted, threatening to unhinge.

' _She was a nice girl, likely fresh out of Hogwarts. He would see her properly rewarded for her kindness_.'

This was her reward?

The world was cruel...

"There are others that must be dealt with." The words slipped from his lips easily, as if he were discussing the weather.

_So_ very cruel...

Alessandra watched him go without a word. A sob escaped from the unconscious nurse, and she flinched. She couldn't stay here, not with her in the room. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, she burst out from her room.

Her panic abruptly faded as she caught sight of the room opposite from hers, and the sole occupant that lay resting in his bed.

_Harry…_


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how it happened, but Chapters 3 and 4 swapped for some odd reason. Fixed now.

**Potter Manor, Cotswalds, England, Great Britain  
A week later… **

James sighed as he scanned through the jumbled mess of parchment laid upon his father's desk, his eyes tired and his fingers cramping up from all the writing. It reminded him of McGonagall's hellish detentions every time she had uncovered one of the Marauder's less than subtle pranks…

Flipping one of the letters over, he tossed it to the side with a groan upon seeing another invite to someone else's Christmas ball. The party, despite the god-awful turn of events, had been a success. Somehow, god forbid, he had managed to return and keep up appearances that all was well.

It had taken _everything_ he had, down to the very last drop in his tank.

He had slumped into a chair not a moment after the last guest had departed, mentally and emotionally _exhausted_.

The guests knew nothing of the night's events. The cunning suspected of course, it's not every day that a manor's wards are suddenly penetrated. Luckily it had been smothered by the thunderstorm, being a localised breach cordoned off far away from the main event. As much as it irked him, he had Harry to thank for that.

Had the boy not distanced himself from the guests… _Merlin, the Daily Prophet would have torn me to bits_.

Disposing of the distressing thoughts, his eyes shifted to the other side of the desk, and coincidentally a much smaller pile of rather official looking scrolls and letters. All were stamped with various seals, belonging mostly to the ICW.

A single, all too familiar name stuck out like a beacon amidst the lines of ink. He felt his teeth grind together despite his efforts to remain calm. _Tombs…_

His subordinate had resisted arrest when ICW agents had come knocking with a warrant, injuring two hitwizards and fleeing across the border. His wanted posters would be plastered across every magical country within the week.

His fingers went to his temples, massaging the ache from them-

"No word yet?"

James jumped in his chair, glancing up to find gemstone red eyes bearing down at him. He glanced over to the doors, finding them slightly ajar. When had she entered? Coughing, he shook his head. "No," he replied, throat a little hoarse. He had been up for pouring over files for… _when was the last time I slept?_ He couldn't remember. "The Ministry has been put on alert for vampire activity, although…"

Alessandra sniffed in contempt, and James gestured in kind. "Exactly, what good that will do, I haven't the foggiest." His hand went back to his forehead. "They've sent Aurors undercover into Knockturn alley, but they'll find nothing." His eyes darkened. "If they want to be of use, they'll need to infiltrate the Underdark."

He watched Alessandra pull back slowly, giving him an askance look. He didn't blame her. Most believed the Underdark to be-

"The secret underbelly of the magical world? Is that not just a-"

" _Myth?_ " James finished dryly. He shrugged. "Muggles believe that magic is a myth, and we consider them ignorant fools for thinking as such."

Alessandra pursed her lips, irritated. "That's not the same."

James grunted, "Why? Because we're witches and wizards and know so much more than them?"

"Does your pretentious postering in the guise of humility have an end at some point?"

James just shook his head at her, not quite able to find an equally scathing reply.

Alessandra didn't bother to hide her smugness, snatching up the letter he had just begun to write in and ignoring his resulting glare. "It's been a week, Potter."

"Your grasp of the obvious is outstanding, Tremblay."

Her eyes didn't leave the letter, although judging by the way they weren't moving, James doubted she was actually reading the thing.

"I want to see him."

James leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as his glare faded for something far more scrutinising. "My contacts haven't returned from Knockturn alley yet. We have very little information on your condi-"

"Do you think me some mindless beast now?" she snapped, tossing the letter back on the desk. "I've seen you watching me, waiting for me to go rabid at any momen-"

"Tremblay-"

"Believe it or not I-"

" _Tremblay!_ " The shout finally silenced the woman. James' stare seemed to almost pierce through her, "Your paranoia and anxiety is understandable considering your new situation, but do sort yourself out." His tone was curt. "Do so _before_ you talk to Harry, preferably."

Alessandra's pride twinged at the insult of dismissal as she watched James turn back to his work, no longer acknowledging her presence. "Seven days have passed since you nearly killed your own son with your stupidity, and yet it seems that _I_ still want to see him more than you."

He stiffened, the tip of his quill coming to a sudden halt. Alessandra sneered at him, before turning on her heel and striding off without a further word, satisfied.

James watched her leave, and only when she closed the door shut behind her did the quill suddenly snap in his fingers, splattering ink across the table.

He sat silently for a moment, before a monumental sigh escaped his lungs as he picked up his wand.

It was true, he hadn't made an effort to speak to Harry since that night… but the lad was as strong as they came. He didn't need or _want_ to be coddled, James knew.

Even still… _that damned bitch._ The woman's implications made his blood boil.

He wanted to get out of this place. He wanted to go back to work. He wanted to run away again and bury his head into spellfire.

It was so simple. So familiar...

Go to a bad place. Kill or imprison all the bad people. Rinse and repeat.

Now… now he was neck deep in a bottomless pool of nigh endless _fuckery_ , which was the only phrase he could possibly use to describe the situation.

He slapped his wand against the table's edge, not even bothering with the incantation or wand movements. The charm was an old friend at this point, a literal light in the darkness.

It would always answer when he called.

From the wand's tip spewed forth a grandiose flood of moonlight, ethereal and cloudy. It quickly whipped and coalesced into the gorgeous form of a muscular red stag, standing tall and proud as it shook its antlered head. It gave its master an inquisitive look.

James just stared at it, his mind slowly grinding away in thought. He knew who he needed to call upon. Although the man may not appreciate being so disturbed, and with such immediacy at that...

He sighed again. _It can't be helped, I guess._

It was perhaps time to call in an old debt...

* * *

His fingers scraped across the ash in the fireplace, gathering the cloudy grey material on the tips. Radiant green eyes just stared at the substance, unsure of what to make of it.

_Was it just a dream?_

More than likely, Harry assumed, but it had felt so _real_.

He didn't know what had happened. He had been running in the dream, fleeing, feeling like the very world was turning against him. The burnt trees pointed at him as if he was a criminal, the earth-shattering footsteps shook the ground beneath him, and the chirping noises had plucked at his sanity.

A shadow had fallen over him, and then… and then _nothing._

Everything just vanished. _He_ had vanished. Erased, wiped, deleted from existence.

It had been enough to jolt Harry awake, screaming in the dead of night as he was stripped of _everything_.

No shard of glass nor broken rib could dare to compare to the terror he had felt. The vivid experience had been all he could think about in the past few days…

A gentle buzz from behind him pulled him from his horrible reverie, and Harry turned to find Delilah's book vibrating on the table next to his bed. The sight of it captured him for a moment, and he remembered the chaotic mess of text that had once filled the pages with Delilah's desperate pleas for a response.

As cruel as it sounded, he found the situation… curious. It was interesting how such an orderly, refined product of routine and procedure could be reduced to such an addled mess of emotions. The mind truly was a fickle thing.

He considered replying, before eventually deciding against it. She had calmed down after he had informed her of his safety, however, he had omitted most of what had happened. She was far from stupid, likely having seen through his blundering excuses.

Her not so subtle prying was becoming… _tedious_.

In addition to the bizarre dream, there was something else that gave him the mightiest of conniptions. Something that would now stick around to haunt him for the rest of his li-

' _Knock!'_

"Harry, are you awake?"

Ah, speak of the devil...

Swallowing thickly, he brushed the ash from his hands and turned. "Miss Tremblay," he greeted politely, internally wincing at how _fabricated_ his voice sounded.

She noticed it too, if the sudden slump of her shoulders meant anything. She seemed to hesitate in the doorway for a second.

"Ah, sorry…" Harry murmured, shaking his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Whatever he was going to say was silenced as Alessandra stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her. "I do."

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed as she approached, staring into the mirror of his dresser. His fist clenched, in either anger or guilt he couldn't decipher which, as he felt her form brush against him.

He was still alone in the mirror…

An ice-cold hand fell over the top of his, gently trying to pry them open. He glanced over to Alessandra, seeing her looking sadly into the mirror.

"Merde… I just now realised how difficult it is going to be to do my makeup."

Despite himself, something twitched at Harry's lips. "Like you need it in the first place."

She smirked, "And now? Perhaps now my ghastly visage demands it, no?"

"Definitely not."

"How would you know, without looking at me?"

Harry exhaled softly, still staring ahead at his lonely reflection.

"Harry, look at me."

Delicate fingers pulled him by his chin, and relenting, he allowed his gaze to be dragged over.

Red met green, their eyes clashing against each other like smouldering coals against viscous poison. Fangs flashing in the moonlight came for him, and the scattered splinters that were once his wand was slapped from his hand. An equal flutter of rage and fear flushed through Harry's vei-

Alessandra smiled.

And it suddenly faded… as quick as it had come. Harry sighed inwardly, violently dispelling the memories. There was nothing of _him_ in her eyes. The colour was the same, but the person they belonged to was far different.

He allowed himself to stare for a moment, ignoring Alessandra's playfully suggestive perk of the brow as he did so. Curiosity overtook him as he leaned closer, brows furrowing. It was almost… otherworldly, her presence now. The red of her eyes swam with what he could only describe as _magic,_ but corrupted. Her breath felt like ice as it brushed against his skin, making him wonder-

"Would you like a magnifying glass?" she teased, unable to resist. Her tone was careful, however, and her voice just barely a whisper.

 _She doesn't want to scare me off,_ Harry realised.

Without missing beat, he hummed in assent. "A pen and some paper whilst you're at it."

Alessandra snorted in amusement, finally prying open his fist as it slackened. Her fingers slipped inside almost subconsciously, revelling in the warmth. _He_ was far more fulfilling than any log-fuelled fire, she noted curiously.

The curiosity then turned bitter as she realised _why_ , for it was just another layer of her curse.

What, was she now doomed to seek the heat in others that had been taken from her? What kind of cruel jest was that? It was a mockery of humanity's saddest sin, in longing for that which one could never possess.

She suddenly blinked, snapped out of her macabre thoughts as her fingers brushed against the thick scarring across Harry's palms. A prophetic reminder of the glassen blade he had taken up for his cause.

 _A knight Templar would be proud,_ she mused.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Alessandra watched as Harry's thoughts played chaos in his head. She knew what he was thinking.

He drew breath to speak, his eyes hardening into something forlorn, and she pulled him into her. "Don't… just don't."

She wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his head. Harry's words died in his mouth, and he slumped into the _freezing_ embrace. Alessandra didn't know how he could possibly bear it… but she was eternally grateful for it all the same.

" _Please_."

After a long moment, she felt Harry nod fractionally into her chest, and Alessandra closed her eyes in relief. She simply basked in the warmth, trying desperately to ignore the sound of James' footsteps echoing down the hall as he stowed his wand and walked back to his office.

Tears stung at her eyes.

* * *

**Somewhere in the Gedrosian desert…**

"Sparrowspell!"

The gravelly shout echoed through the gargantuan chamber, rattling off the walls and bouncing across the imposing stone pillars that stretched up into the endless ceiling above. Sand lined the floor in tonnes, creating rolling, wavy dunes in between the spires of stone.

A figure, swathed in gorgeous black and plum robes of an eastern descent, turned from where he stood upon one of these dunes. His masked, turban covered head swung to level a hawkish gaze upon the individual that had disturbed the silence.

A surprisingly massive goblin encased in a full set of plate armour had stomped his way into the chamber. "Inside voice please, Gavelgrin," Sparrowspell admonished. In comparison, his voice was smooth. "Do you not recognise the significance of the place we are standing in?"

'Gavelgrin' growled from beneath his full-face helm as he shifted the heavy battleaxe in his hands. "Do not presume to chide the mighty Gavelgrin." The axe swiped through the air, producing a hollow, keening sound. "Gavelgrin bows to no staff-stroking wizard!"

The masked man sighed, shaking his head in mild irritation as he pulled the silk across his face down to his neck, revealing shaven features. "Mhmm, as you say." As the goblin's shoulders hiked up in anger, the figure raised a hand placatintly. "How goes the struggle up top?"

The goblin's armour rattled as his chest thrummed in displeasure, though eventually his axe lowered as he scoffed. "Those piss-stained defences are hardly worthy of deeming 'a struggle'." The butt of the heavy axe slammed into the ground, as if in emphasis.

Sparrowspell paused halfway through lighting what looked to be a wooden pipe. His brows rose as he regarded the goblin. "Really? Didn't those 'pitiful defences' cost you almost all the curse-breakers on site?" he quizzed innocently.

Gavelgrin shrugged, "Bah! Human wandsuckers, as worthless as a giant's cock to a fairy's mouth."

Blinking to dispel the horrifying image in his mind, the human made a vague gesture with his pipe. "Uhuh... and what of the handful or so goblin Ruinbreakers that were, quite frankly, ripped to pieces?" The pipe swung to point at the grand set of stairs Gavelgrin had descended from. "I say that because I quite literally stepped over a goblin's nose, or _whatever_ in Settra's name that was, on my way through the palace up above."

There was no reply this time, only a disdainful huff from the armoured creature.

Sparrowspell chuckled softly as he turned back to the room he had been gazing over. "This is one of the fabled lost cities of Alexander the Great, Gavelgrin. I thought you would show more respect to the halls of a legendary conqueror, as a fellow warrior yourself." A sly smirk split the man's features. He didn't need to look to know his words had struck a chord with the now conflicted goblin, his hatred of humans and his adoration for warlords vying at the forefront of his mind.

Apparently, the goblin had some tact as he changed the topic, albeit uncouthly. "Have you cleared this place yet or have you just been gawking at the fucking walls, you shrakh-eating wizard?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sparrowspell began to descend down the sand dune he was standing on, making for the centre of the massive chamber. "I had finished dismantling the last of the illusory traps just as you came clanking and clanging down the stairs, believe it or not," he replied acridly.

Gavelgrin snarled at the human as he barged into the sand, sending it spraying as he forced his stocky, heavy body through the grains.

"Stop making so much noise."

"No, go fuc-"

The goblin's acerbic reply was cut off abruptly as a deafening _'boom!'_ exploded through the chamber. A geyser of golden sand was shot into the sky mere feet from the armour clad figure, who wheeled around in shock as a pair of decaying, snapping jaws lunged for him.

It was a crocodile, skeletal, with strips of old leather and rotten flesh hanging off yellow bones. A crocodile as large as a _bus_.

Gavelgrin recoiled, his heavy axe coming up in defence as he braced himself. The jaws descended around him, like a vice made of teeth.

" _Impedimenta tria._ "

The hollow chirp of a songbird rang out through the chamber, laced with magic and thrumming with an ancient resonance. Gavelgrin watched as the jaws around him on either side suddenly froze, along with the grains of sand that had been thrown up into the sand…

It was a bizarre sight, for whilst the monster's head and upper torso was immobilised, the other half of its body was thrashing _wildly_.

Blinking owlishly, the armour clad goblin took a few steps backwards, stumbling slightly as the sands gave under his feet.

"I'll say this once again." The goblin's eye twitched as the wizard's voice echoed through the chamber. " _Stop_ making so much noise."

The sallow whistle of a blade careening through the air was the reply Sparrowspell recieved.

Sparrowspell watched as the crocodile was cleaved into fragments, _along_ with his impediment jinx as the powerful runes etched into the axehead hewed through both bone and magic alike. The sand that hung still in the air suddenly collapsed to the ground, in tandem with the undead construct.

Gavelgrin sneered at the remains, before trudging up the slope to where Sparrowspell stood. His axe poked accusingly in the air towards where the carcass lay. "Necromancy!" he spat. "See the fruits of your kind's labour, Sparrowspell? It's disgusting, abhorrent, _dishonourable._ "

The robed figure's eyes narrowed. "Know your boundaries, goblin."

Gavelgrin merely stared at the wizard, and Sparrowspell had the infuriating suspicion that the creature was grinning wildly beneath that helmet of his. Eventually, the axe swung up to rest on his shoulder with a magical hum. "Sand golems, and now boner lizards… does this 'Abelandro' idiot have any class?"

Sparrowspell eyed the creature beside him with an estranged look. "This is coming from _you_?"

Gavelgrin sniffed haughtily, though it sounded more akin to a drafthorse sneezing. "Your ignorance of the superior race is showing, bird of spells. Gavelgrin is regarded as the pinnacle of goblin society, hundreds of fine breeding stock line their loins at Gavelgrin's feet."

Sparrowspell shivered.

"R-right…" Adding another memory to purge from his mind today, Sparrowspell took a page from the goblin's own book and changed the subject. "How many of the defences up top have been neutralized?" He asked as the two began to make their way to the centre.

"We found a massive juice nugget in the main hall of the palace, defunct for… eh, roughly fifteen years now-"

" _Juice nug_ \- ah, you mean the anchor that had been powering the sandstorm? I wonder why it suddenly stopped working... this place is running off a major layline, so it should have been-"

"Good for another millenia at least, yeah we know. Interrupt Gavelgrin again and Gavelgrin will punch you in your little human balls." Sparrowspell didn't deign to reply, and the goblin grunted in satisfaction. "As Gavelgrin was saying…" he paused abruptly.

Sparrowspell glanced over to him, brow perked in a question.

"Gavelgrin has forgotten what he was saying."

"Well, not an uncommon feat of yours," Sparrowspell offered innocently. "And the excavations? Has anything other than the main chamber been unearthed yet?" he asked.

Gravelgrin's axe twitched in his hand as he glared at the wizard. "All the squishy humans are dead. The ineptitude of your kind means that we need to call in more to move all of this fucking sand out of the way!" He kicked at the ground as if to make a point. "The city itself is a lost cause, but this _Alejandro's the Goat's_ palace may be salvageable-"

"-Contact."

The curt warning had Gavelgrin quietening immediately as his axe came up to the ready, the chainmail beneath his armour crinkling as his centre of gravity lowered. His eyes then flicked to the wizard, and he promptly flinched at what he saw.

The human's eyes were glowing blue with magic, as veins looking more like thick worms wriggling beneath the skin spread across his face. Sparrowspell slowly removed his wand from his temple, and the unsightly visuals quickly faded as he pointed towards a particularly large sand dune.

Gavelgrin sneered in distaste. _Yuck!_

"In there," the wizard stated simply.

Gavelgrin sniffed, axe twirling within his armoured fingers. "Hmph." His feet crunched into the sand as he approached the designated target.

A moment later, and the goblin was striding back stuffing fangs as large as his arms into a comically small pouch at his hip. "Oi, human!" the Ruinbreaker called gruffly, waving a tooth around. "Don't these things remind you of the giant lizards we found in the Egyptian tombs? Giant crackodons, wasn't it?"

Sparrowspell hummed as he rounded another of the giant stone pillars, scanning it for any markings or glyphs. "Crocodiles, you mean?"

"No, Gavelgrin did not." The armour-clad figure shook its head in exasperation. " _Crocodiles,_ " he mimicked scathingly. "That sounds as stupid as you look, you pink sack of shrakh. They're called crackodons."

A moment passed, and Gavelgrin's brow furrowed as his companion offered no retort. He glanced over to where the human had disappeared around the pillar and quickened his stride to catch him, a low growl rattling his ribcage as he did so.

"Oi! _Oi!_ Don't you dare ignore Gavelgrin, you hornless, rear-munching…" The goblin's voice trailed off as he rounded the corner, his eyes widened in shock at what he was seeing. "Azog damn the oblivion… is that-"

"The _Veil_ …"

Sparrowspell's whisper of disbelief echoed through the chamber, hissing across the _open_ ground before them.

The sands and pillars of stone had abruptly given way to a circular clearing. A hundred foot stretch of black marble circled a raised dais, upon which sat a simple stone archway of foreboding imagery.

Corpses, old and skeletal and bearing rusted arms and armour from centuries past, littered the polished marble in the dozens. The differences between two separate factions was as clear as glass, however the implications were baffling…

Some were obviously of Persian origin, wearing silver scale and black silks, bearing aged spears long rusted. The spread-eagled avian, the Farahavar, stamped into their leather labelled them as soldiers of the Achaemenid Empire. "Immortals?" Sparrowspell murmured, baffled. _Are these the forces of Cyrus the Great?_

Yet strewn amongst them, others wore brass plate and crested helms that bore the symbol of the Vergina Sun.

The symbol borne by the Argead Dynasty of Ancient Macedon. _Alexander's soldiers..._

Sparrowspell blinked in abject confusion, eyeing the two symbols in consternation. "How… this doesn't make any sense." He paused by one of the bodies, fingering the rusted edge of a dagger that was embedded into the torso of a Greek hoplite. "These two men are supposed to be separated by _centuries_ …"

"Are you truly staring at the damned _floor_?" The harsh growl had Sparrowspell snapping back to the present. "Look up, you hairless monkey."

Shooting the goblin an irritated glare, Sparrowspell nevertheless complied. His booted feet carried him across the polished black marble, stepping over the corpses of ancient macedonian hoplites and persian soldiers alike. "Another Veil of Death?" he murmured, more to himself.

Gavelgrin grunted in dissent, shaking his plated head. "This one's broken."

Sparrowspell regarded Gavelgrin for a moment, before offering the archway a closer inspection. _He's right,_ he realised.

Whilst the one that had been claimed by the British Ministry of Magic, buried deep in the bowels of their subterranean floors, was active, the one they were looking at was most certainly not.

The ancient, unreadable runes of some long forgotten, archaic language were dim. There was no hazy gateway or portal to the undisclosed realm of mystery that had plagued the brains of wizardkind for hundreds of years. The archway itself was barely standing, with fragments from it scattered across the floor. In fact…

Sparrowspell's eyes narrowed.

In fact, it looked as if it had exploded.

From the _inside_.

He made the connection, just two events took place simultaneously.

A sudden burst of light appeared from the inky black ceiling. Its source _galloped_ down in the form of a muscular red stag made of glowing moonlit energy, blitzing towards Sparrowspell with a single-minded determination.

And ahead, rising up over the broken archway from the other side of the raised dais like a tidal wave made of decaying flesh and rotting muscle, _something_ that was most certainly _not_ a giant crocodile revealed itself. Golden sand fell from its shoulders, running through old wounds that looked like they had been made by something akin to Gavelgrin's own weapon of choice.

A head, fit with horns that stretched as wide as a car loomed down over them, glaring with unholy eyes.

Sparrowspell felt Gavelgrin stiffen beside him, just as the very _familiar_ looking patronus descended onto the marble floor with its soundless hooves.

"A... minotaur?" Gavelgrin's voice was barely a whisper, before a slow, rumbling laugh began to rattle through his helmet. The runes along the Ruinbreaker's axe began to light up with a manic intensity. " **HAHAHAH!** Gork has blessed this day! GAVELGRIN ACCEPTS THIS CHALLENGE!" Froth began to seep from beneath the goblin's full-face helmet, dripping across his gorget as he bashed the head of his axe against his chestplate.

Sparrowspell ignored the raving, addled goblin and instead watched as the large patronus' mouth opened, admitting a voice that he had rather hoped to never hear again.

" _I hope you're doing well, old friend. Forgive the distasteful presentation of this, however, I find myself in the unfortunate position of having to call in_ _that_ _favour._

 _I regret having to pry at old wounds, but I can take no half-measures with what's happened. Quirinus, I really,_ _**really** _ _need your specific... 'expertise'._

_Make your way to the Potter Manor immediately."_

A still beat of time passed as the patronus dissolved into wisps of ethereal light, before a pitched, inhuman snort from wide nostrils broke the silence.

Sparrowspell tore his frozen gaze away from where the patronus had been stood, to the looming form of the monster that lorded over them.

His eye twitched.

"If this is a joke, it is in rather poor taste."

* * *

**Potter Manor, Cotswalds, England, Great Britain**   
**A day later...**

He stepped fluidly across the cobbled road, making nary a sound. Black silks of persian origin whipped in the harsh British weather. His hands were clasped behind his back as he walked, hiding his drawn wand.

Something was off.

The macabre feeling was not unwarranted, especially considering that Sparrowspell should have been smeared into paste by now after apparating _into_ the lands of an ICW officer. He glanced up at the dreary sky, eyes narrowed.

_Why is there a breach in the wards?_

The damage was extremely minor, but enough for an experienced wizard to apparate through.

His eyes fell over the ostentatious manor that sat proudly atop the wooded hill, taking in the germanic stone and stained glass-

His brows furrowed.

The glass along the eastern wing of the abode was all missing.

_What the devil happened here?_

Shaking his head as the questions just kept piling up, Sparrowspell quickened his stride.

Eventually, the main entrance to the manor revealed itself as he crested over a small knoll. His nostrils flared as the scent of iron blew faintly on the wind. Approaching, his gloved fingers reached out and brushed against a brown stain on the doorway.

_Blood, a week or so old…_

It was an abstract blood splatter, almost as if someone had missed a spot whilst vanishing the evidence.

A lax wave of his wand saw the doors to the Potter manor swing open of their own accord. He stepped inside, and waited expectantly.

After a moment, his brows rose in abject shock. "Settra be damned," Sparrowspell cursed, glancing around uneasily.

_Where's the house elf? It should know of my trespassing..._

He looked over the entrance hall, taking in the large amount of scuffs on the floor and the remnant stains of spilt drinks and food. All things pointed to a large crowd.

A glance ahead saw stairs on either side of the hall leading to the second floor. The doors to the office were left ajar, and Sparrowspell's lips pursed as he spied the flickering of firelight within.

Inhaling softly, he made his way quickly up the stairs. A tap of his wand against his chest saw his form blur as the disillusionment spell took hold. Slipping through into the office, Sparrowspell emerged with his wand raised.

Only to lower it with a frown.

James was slumped at his desk, eyes bloodshot and a mug of cold coffee in limp hands as he poured over piles upon piles of paperwork.

He looked like a mess.

Sparrowspell took a few strides closer, before a blur of movement had him freezing. A wand's tip, glowing an ominous red, was now suddenly pointed at his translucent face. James' eyes narrowed, his dangerous features spoke its own warning.

_Hmph, as distracted he may be, he is still James Potter._

He dropped his disillusionment.

The man who held him at wand point seemed to frown at him, before shaking his head in exasperation and sinking back down into his chair with a sigh. "I see you still lack common courtesy," he said tiredly. "How did you get in here?"

Sparrowspell hummed, folding his arms across his chest. "Perhaps by strolling through the _damaged_ wards?" he replied, words dripping thick with sarcasm.

James glanced at him, before groaning irritably. "Balls… I'd forgotten about that."

"What happened to the house's defences?"

James just waved a hand. "Harry blew it up," he muttered dully.

Sparrowspell's brow rose. "Excuse me?"

James just gave him a mirthless grin, eyes dim and strained with lethargy. "I did tell you things were rather dire, did I not?"

The robed wizard shook his head slowly. "Dire enough to pull me from the greatest discovery of my life? Do not test me, Potter." He took a step closer, beady eyes glaring at the dispassionate pure-blood. "That chain you have dangling around my neck is not some fickle toy-"

"You think I don't know that?"

The words were delivered in a whisper. Danger and ample threat laced them like poison.

Sparrowspell withdrew, eyeing the wizard warily.

"You think I ever wanted to see you again? After what you forced me to do?"

The masked wizard's lips thinned.

James paid him no mind, his eyes were unfocused as he glanced around almost deliriously. "Weak, pathetic little weasel, aren't you?… couldn't even fathom their existence, just conned me into swinging the executioner's axe as if it weighed nothing." The Englishman smiled tiredly, although it was far from genuine. "They called for you as I did it, you know-"

" _Enough._ "

James paused. He glanced up at Sparrowspell, and found the man shaking slightly, eyes narrowed in bloody murder.

"Enough," he repeated again, tossing a small medallion on the desk surface. "On the magic that be his, be now yours to condemn should Quirinus Quirrel fail to uphold his vow," Sparrowspell muttered, almost in disgust. " _Itaque, signatus est enim._ "

Sparrowspell placed his wand tip against the medallion, and tensed up in preparation. Soon enough, the hollow whistle of a songbird chirped through the air as Sparrowspell's eyes flashed a bright blue. His magic, and thus his life, was now bound.

"Are you mad?" James asked, stunned.

Sliding the now innocuous seeming coin across the table, Sparrowspell offered him a scathing glare. "I work for Gringotts, Potter. I take debts owed _very_ seriously." He watched as James picked up the coin, cradling the piece of metal as if it commanded life and death. _Well…_ he snorted inwardly, _it does._ "Now, what do you require of me-" Sparrowspell suddenly spun, wand snapping up and electricity sparking at its tip.

Alessandra froze in the doorway, watching as death came for her in the form of a cyan bolt of sizzling magic.

The floor suddenly lurched before her, and the wooden boards snapped free from their places to form a crude hand that caught the spell within its palm.

"Quirrel, stop!"

The robed wizard didn't lower his wand, the tip sparking furiously with barely restrained magic as he turned a wild eye onto James. "Whatis this foul _monster_ doing in your home?" he hissed, his words _dripping_ with hatred.

James lowered his wand, and the scorched wooden construct shielding Alessandra came apart in a clutter of charred planks. He offered the woman a withering glare. "I thought I told you explicitly to not interfere." He didn't wait for her to reply, instead jerking his head towards the door. "Get out."

The vampiress took one more look at the enraged wizard, before immediately fleeing the room.

Sparrowspell looked in half a mind to chase her down, and James sighed. "Sit down please, Quirinus."

Reigning himself in with a supreme effort, Sparrowspell closed the doors and locked them shut with a harsh swipe of his wand, before turning to James. "Explain," he commanded, brushing aside the offered chair. " _Now._ "

Placing his mug of cold coffee on the table with an irritated grunt, James reached into his drawer for a pepper-up potion and slammed it back.

Immediately, the lethargy began to seep from his skin as his vision clarified. The previous thirty-seven hours of sleeplessness vanished as he locked eyes with the incensed man across from him.

He drew breath… and spoke.

* * *

**The Leaky Cauldron, London, England, Great Britain**   
**Later that night...**

Harry sipped at his coffee slowly, doing his best not to show how unnerved he truly was by the man that sat across from him. His eyes flicked to the figure across the tavern table, taking in the flowing silks he wore, the scarred, enchanted leather beneath it, and the yellowish eyes that _stared_ with the intensity of a hawk.

Quirinus Quirrel, veteran curse-breaker and… a hunter of the supernatural.

The rather comical name didn't quite represent the wizard's starkly unique appearance, or his personality.

Harry placed his beverage down, taking his time to mull over the information that had just been dumped onto him. "So essentially, the manor is no longer safe?"

Quirrel nodded, "Correct." He then made a vague gesture. "Vampirism is a vile, mutated thing. Many different forms of the curse have been discovered, and each has their fallacies and weaknesses." Harry's eyes locked onto Quirrel's hand as the man rubbed at an old scar subconsciously. "Some, for example, cannot enter a home uninvited…"

Harry pulled away from his coffee, abandoning the sip he was about to take as he sighed in understanding. "The invitations!"

Quirrel hummed, nodding. "I cannot fathom the depths of your father's stupidity... to hand out _written_ invitations to vampires." He shook his head in disbelief. "To _higher_ vampires at that."

Harry leaned forwards, his unease washed away by curiosity. "I didn't know there were different types of vampires."

"Many are equally as ignorant," Quirrel said. "Some are simply wild beasts, wicked monsters lacking intelligence. The others, the more dangerous ones are… well, you are familiar."

Red eyes flashed in Harry's mind, and he nodded. A thought suddenly struck him. "They're after me, aren't they?"

Quirrel cocked his head to the side, curiosity piqued. "Ah? What makes you say that?"

Harry looked away, his mind replaying the moment he had first come face to face with death given form. " _I found him…_ " he muttered softly. At Quirrel's perked brow, Harry shrugged uneasily. "The… _vampire_ that nearly killed me said it, as if he was informing someone. If nothing else, it seems like they were looking specifically for me."

The older wizard regarded the young man before him in a new light, before humming once again in curiosity. "Interesting."

Harry could only glance away as the man resumed his staring.

Thankfully, he was saved from the scrutiny as a serving girl brought two plates of food before them, and at Quirrel's behest, refilled their drinks. Quirrel sniffed, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he finally broke off and picked up his fork.

"Interesting," he said again, before stabbing at a chip.

Harry restrained the sudden urge to do some stabbing of his own with the fork that was just placed in front of him.

"How was it?"

The conversational tone cut through his grouchy thoughts like a knife, and Harry cocked his head at the random enquiry, subconsciously mimicking the other man's habits.

"Excuse me?"

Quirrel placed his fork down as he regarded the younger wizard sitting before him. "Your first kill, how was it?"

Harry's eyes widened. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"Your father, and that _creature_ told me that you put up quite the fight, unarmed and up against a superior combatant as you wer-"

" _Alessandra._ "

Quirrel paused, both at the _venomous_ tone and as a thick heat began to coat the air around them. He glanced up to find Harry glaring at him, eyes alight with barely restrained magic.

"That _creature's_ name is Alessandra. I would ask that you use it, like a civilised individual."

Undeterred by the reprimand, the robed wizard regarded Harry for a moment. "Interesting."

Irritation flashed through the visibly incensed teenager. "Is this going to become a thing? Or is this your bullheaded take on being eccentric?"

The other figure's lips twitched, before a lopsided smirk crooked on his features. "Did not take much to get your fangs out, did it?" he stabbed at another chip. "You are strangely disciplined in some aspects, although severely lacking in others."

Harry edged back slightly as the fire in his eyes gave way to confusion.

The other man's smirk just widened. "Back to the earlier topic," he paused to inspect his steak, before nodding, satisfied. "Your father, and _she_ told me quite the tall tale regarding your exploits on that night." His wand twitched, and the knife and fork before him began to cut up his steak into bite-sized pieces. "Taking on a full-blown higher vampire and winning, dragging an unconscious woman whilst on death's door yourself, and then proceeding to 'pierce' an ancient set of wards using the magnificently magical power of _stupidity_ alone…" Quirrel's beady eyes seemed to glow with barely restrained intrigue.

"Stupidity?"

Quirrel chuckled. "Channeling _that_ much magic through a violently unreceptive conduit? 'Stupid' is the lesser term to use for such a feat." The man coughed lightly, flagging down a server and asking for salt before turning back to Harry. "You are a lucky fool, little one. Lucky that the magical backlash decided to _explode_ and direct upwards, rather than _implode_ and direct your extremities to meet every corner of the room."

Harry swallowed thickly as he shook his head. "I… none of it was intentional."

Quirrel scoffed lightly. "Of course it wasn't, I'd call you a liar if you told me anything otherwise." As Harry stewed on the notion, the masked wizard grunted suddenly as he removed a notepad from his robes and threw it down in front of the boy. "Recount what you know of magic in general, the rules that apply and those that do not."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

Quirrel didn't reply, deciding instead to resume his staring.

Sighing under his breath, Harry dragged the paper and pen over to himself and began to write. The request was odd, although it was easy enough to fulfill. Magic was quite the diverse subject, after all. It wasn't like he could run out of things to write _about_.

After a few minutes, Quirrel nodded. "That will do." He didn't take the notepad as Harry offered to him. "Now, pick a number between one, and ten."

Beyond the point of trying to decipher whatever it was the man was plotting, Harry shrugged. "Seven, I suppose."

Quirrel smiled. "Of course you do." At Harry's cock of the brow, he steepled his hands together. "Why seven?"

Harry merely shot him a baleful glare as he took up his mug of coffee once more, quite done with the man's antics. "Dunno, you tell me."

"Because you are steeped in magic." The solemn words were delivered in a low, thrumming tone, and Harry paused as his bottom lip touched the ceramic rim. "It thrashes wildly inside you, like a raging beast." Quirrel gestured to the notepad. "Everything you do is influenced by it. Your lines are seven words long, your passages seven lines long, the number you chose, being seven… _Interesting_ doesn't quite cut it, little Potter."

A glance at the notepad confirmed the man's words. Harry frowned. "Seven is supposed to be the most magically powerful of numbers, right?"

Quirrel pursed his lips. "Not exactly how it works. It's the most powerful _singular_ number that is regarded to be _stable_." He answered.

"It still seems a little far-fetched."

The robed wizard shrugged indifferently. "I would tend to agree, however you rather corrode my concept of rationality with the ludicrous feat that you performed."

A breath of amusement slipped from Harry's nose, causing the other man to cock his head inquisitively. "So when next am I supposed to hold mass and preach of my impending godhood?"

The man's eyes rolled away in stark exasperation. "Luck does not equate to much, little Potter." He then shrugged. "Though I cannot undermine your potential, as strange of a fool you are."

"What a day I'm having, being called strange by a man wrapped in toilet paper." Harry let out a yelp as the fork that was levitating by Quirrel suddenly launched itself at his plate, mangling his chips and stabbing at his steak maliciously. "Oi!"

"Serves you right," the older man grumbled. " _Toilet_ paper the boy says…"

Whatever reply Harry had lined up was rather cut off as the barkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, a hunchback by the name of Tom came waddling up. He extended the letter in his hand towards Quirrel. "Sparrowspell, sir. Come from them goblins it did."

Harry cocked a brow. _Sparrowspell?_

The levity quickly vanished as Quirrel straightened up. "Did it now? Thank you, Thomas." He took the letter, opening it immediately.

"No worries, ya old gaffer." The disfigured man glanced at Harry, his eyes snapping to the teenager's forehead for a split second before returning. "A'right there, Mister Pottah? Is ery'thin to yer liking?"

Harry smiled easily at the man, "Mister Potter is my father Mr. Thomas, I'm just Harry." Sneaking another sip from his drink, Harry nodded in satisfaction. "Everything is perfect, you're a riot when it comes to pouring a brew."

The barkeeper seemed to blink in surprise, before grinning broadly. "Then it's just Tom to ya, Harry." A thought seemed to hit him suddenly as he snapped his fingers and began to waddle off, shouting over his shoulder. "If ye've got another in ya, Harry, I got these new beans in from France! It took us ages to catch the buggers when they grew legs and did a bloody runner down the street! Ya gotta try it mate, on the house!"

"That's quite alright Thomas, it seems that Harry and I shall have to miss your hospitality tonight."

Harry glanced at Quirrel in surprise as the man stood abruptly, his meal half-finished.

"Awh... no matter. Next time then, ey lad?"

Harry shot Tom a distracted smile as she stood. "Next time, without a doubt." His eyes fell to Quirrel who was watching him, seemingly pondering something. "What's going on?"

The robed wizard's eyes glinted softly in the tavern light. "You know, you're stuck with me until Hogwarts starts."

Harry bit down on his lip, opting to remain silent. The man irritated him, but he wasn't _unbearable_. Now spending the rest of the month slumped at a table in the Leaky Cauldron... he would probably go mad-

"-I'm sure you would rather be doing something other than sitting around, twiddling your thumbs." He smiled, though Harry swore that there was something _else_ hiding beneath it. "Your father tells me that you're a quick study, shall we put that to the test?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "You want me to apprentice under you?"

The man pulled a pipe from under his silks and slipped it into the corner of his mouth before snapping his fingers. As if made of flint, auburn sparks flashed from in between the digits, seemingly coming to life in the form of tiny, flaming sparrows that all flew up to set the tobacco alight.

Quirrel restrained the urge to smirk as Harry's eyes lit up with _curiosity._

"Tell me, how do you feel about playing in the sand?"


	5. Chapter 4

** A Lost City of Alexandria, Gedrosian Desert **   
** Four days on site... **

His legs dangled over the old marble railing, swinging in the cool breeze that pleasantly countered the searing heat of the desert sun. Harry could scarcely believe where he was, growing giddy on the thought of being so _far_ away from home in such a _magnificent_ place.

And what a magnificent place it was…

"One of Alexander's legendary lost cities…" The whisper left his upturned lips.

Whatever training Alessandra had given him in masking his emotions had flown out the window the moment he had emerged from the international portkey. In one moment, he had been standing in the grubby tavern that was the Leaky Cauldron, his shrunken trunk in his pocket and dressed rather spectacularly in flowing silks and light fabrics at Quirrel's behest.

In the next, he stood upon a sunken city of fables past, staring at a picture plucked from a forgotten history. He had struggled to pick his jaw off the floor, even as Quirrel chuckled at his dumbstruck reaction.

That had been several days ago, and in that time his respect for his spontaneously made mentor had risen dramatically. Goblins were proud, blunt, and dangerous creatures, and it was quite clear who exactly was in charge here. They did not take kindly to a _human_ child trespassing on their legendary find.

Even still, a single glare from the hawkish man and their protests fell to the wayside. It certainly helped that a huge behemoth of steel and goblin fury had decided to back the robed wizard against its own kin. It confused Harry in the moment, however Quirrel's irritated explanation had clarified the brawny goblin's motives.

" _Goblins are not kind, little Harry. If nothing else, remember that they do_ _ **nothing**_ _without purpose. He is likely as incensed as the rest of his kind that I would dare to breach such protocol, however his cunning far outstrips theirs. In defending you, he has secured a favour from me, which he no doubt will put to good use."_

Alessandra and James had both stressed the cutthroat nature of the creatures who ruled the world's economy. However, seeing it put in action was...

_Interesting_... at least to him.

It was so efficient, so ruthlessly pragmatic.

His reveries were cut short as a shadow flit past his face, blurring his vision. Blinking, his eyes refocused on the small bird that had just flown by. Harry watched it soar, smiling as the creature flew rings around him, curiously observing the wingless, featherless anomaly that existed as high as it did.

He had managed to sneak up into one of the gorgeous looking towers that rose high above the Persian-style palace. The spire he occupied had been one of those that were cleared and then deemed useless.

_Useless…_ Harry begged to differ. The view the vantage point provided was unequivocally, _priceless._

Far below, he could see the hints of what once would have been a sprawling metropolis made of sandstone and marble. It was all buried under sand now.

Gringotts had deemed the city a lost cause, one that would take hundreds upon hundreds of years to excavate fully. The palace was the vein of gold which they had chosen to mine.

The forlorn ambience that seemed to layer the place due to the forgotten masses was, as guilty as Harry was to admit it, a darkly captivating quality. How many had stories to tell, he wondered? How many had secrets, scandalous or otherwise, buried alongside them under all the sand?

The thought made him snort softly. _I'll be here all day if I keep thinking like this…_ Shaking his head ruefully, he turned his attention to the cleared area at the base of the palace, directly below him.

Arrays of tents had been pitched, grand things of masterful quality. However, there were very few of them. They were taking it slow, Harry noticed. _Why wouldn't they?_ he realised. _They have all the time in the world…_ It was true. All on site had been sworn into secrecy, even the witches and wizards in Gringotts' employ.

He could see the goblins, looking more like tiny ants, scurrying across the golden sands, making their way to wherever it was they needed to go with startling efficiency. Every now and then Harry would catch sight of a larger, armour-plated goblinoid armed to the teeth striding in or out of the sunken palace.

By chance, a small party of said specimen emerged from the main entrance as he watched from above, and in the lead was the biggest one Harry had seen yet. The brute was encased in freshly scarred plate, toting an axe that looked like it could split a horse or two. "Gobbo knights…" he murmured, before flushing slightly at how _silly_ the name sounded out loud.

"Whilst not technically incorrect," Harry's eyes widened. "They're called Ruinbreakers."

Rising from his lounging position half dangling off the tower, Harry turned and found himself face to face with a suitably amused looking Quirrel.

Harry snorted softly. "How fearsome."

"Quite."

"Gobbo knights sound way cooler, though."

The robed wizard lips twitched slightly at the playful remark. "As you say."

Harry grunted as he turned back around, leaning on the marble railing. "How'd you find me?" No sooner did the question leave his lips, did the same bird from earlier suddenly flutter by lazily. It spun in the whipping winds gracefully a few times before floating over to land on Harry's shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation.

It was a sparrow.

_Okay, now I really wanna know what's up with the bird theme..._

He could feel Quirrel's smug smirk boring into his back. "Nevermind," he mumbled, reaching up to pet the tiny bird with a finger, before pulling away as it's form suddenly dissolved into blue sparks.

"I didn't take you for such a loose cannon, although, I should have expected as such considering the seed from which you were born."

Harry made a disgusted face as he glanced over his shoulder at the older man. "Surely there's a less putrid way you could have put it?" The man's words then registered. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"

"Running away from your babysitter in a location of incredible danger and climbing towers seems to fit the bill."

At this, Harry groaned as he turned to look back out over the buried city. "Did you have to sic that red-headed mutt on me?" He shook his head in wonder. "The guy's a stick in the mud... or sand, I suppose."

Harry blinked as he felt something light slap him across the back of his head. He glanced up to find one of Quirrel's wayward turban strands whipping at him for his churlishness.

"If you hadn't noticed, this is a rather dangerous place." He shook his head in disappointment as his impromptu apprentice rolled his eyes. "Do not misunderestimate the palace, little Harry." With that, he turned, beckoning with a finger. "Come, I said I would learn you something and learn you something I shall."

Harry straightened immediately, "Really? _Here_?"

Quirrel frowned at him. "It would be a little hard to teach up here, but I'm sure I could mak-"

"Not _here_ as in… christ, I meant 'here' as in this general location."

"What better place is there?"

Harry glanced out over the roving sea of golden sand and the shining jewel that was Alexander's marble palace. "Point."

With that, Harry followed as Quirrel led down the spiralling staircase of the North-western tower. Curiously, they didn't exit outside through the hole blown into the bottom of the tower, but instead began to enter the palace proper.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.

Gorgeous sandstone and marble halls that should have once been wide and open, catering to the Persian motif, were now grim and foreboding. The sand piled up high on the outside walls, blocking the bright sunlight of the Gedrosian from entering.

Every now and then, Quirrel would sweep his wand, sending incredible amounts of sand hurtling to the side. Harry watched him curiously. _Quirinus Quirrel, the Moses of Sand._

His musings were cut short after another sweep of Quirrel wand. A large blockage of sand was shifted to the side, revealing the skeletal remains of two warriors locked in eternal combat.

They had been buried whilst killing each other.

Harry recognised the two starkly different looking attires the corpses wore. He had seen quite a few of them being carted out of the main entrance. Ancient Macedonian soldiers, without a doubt belonging to the banner flown by Alexander himself.

And Persian warriors, far older than the former.

"What's the story here?" He muttered, just loud enough for Quirrel to hear him. For some reason, Harry felt mindful of disrespecting the sombre silence.

Quirrel agreed, if his subdued reply meant anything. "Honestly? We do not know." Quirrel shook his head, seemingly frustrated by the notion. "It is strange, no? To find a Persian palace flying Alexander's standard and bearing the Vergina sun."

Harry didn't reply, for the man wasn't truly asking him. It was a rhetorical question, one that was likely plaguing his mind.

"It is said that he had become lost in the middle of the Gedrosian, losing over half his army to desert sands…" The veteran curse-breaker's eyes narrowed. "How very convenient." He reached out with a foot and toed at the ancient hoplite's shield. "He wasn't a strategic mastermind that could have very easily avoided such a crippling mishap, goodness no."

Harry blinked, slowly chewing on the words that positively _dripped_ with sarcasm. "Considering how many bodies the goblins have been digging up," Harry gestured to the dead soldiers. "We might be _standing_ on said half of an army."

Quirrel's eyes snapped to him in surprise, before narrowing in thought.

"Nevertheless," Quirrel broke free from his thoughts, turning as he dug into his robes. "Let us see what your teachers at Hogwarts has taught you so far," he said, holding out a plain looking wand.

Harry blinked, eyeing the thing dubiously. "What if it doesn't match me?" he asked, now wary of what could happen if his luck suddenly ran out.

Quirrel laughed softly, "Good, you are already learning it seems." He shook his head, handing the instrument over to Harry. "Do not fret, it's quite the submissive specimen, this one."

Almost immediately, Harry nodded in agreement. It felt like _putty_ in his hands, rolling over on its back in surrender the moment he even began to channel his magic. He didn't like it. _It's so weak…_

He looked back up at Quirrel. "What about the trace?"

"Why would I give you a marked wand?"

The young wizard blinked, before conceding a nod. _You idiot, Harry._

Quirrel chuckled to himself as he gestured for Harry to follow once more. The duo made their way further in the palace.

Both missed the skeletal head that had rolled over to watch them leave.

* * *

** A Lost City of Alexandria, Gedrosian Desert **   
** Eight days on site… **

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Harry snorted at the overly dramatic tone. "He's actually where I left him for once!"

Not looking up from Delilah's book, Harry waved a hand. "Don't worry William, I'll sneak out later tonight I promise."

Even as he spoke, his pen scrawled a line of flowing text into the margin of the page he was reading from. _'My babysitter is back…'_

The ink faded, and another line of text replaced his. _'Back? When and why did he leave in the first place? Has he not learned already that you can't be trusted alone?'_

Harry rolled his eyes, just as William slumped into the chair opposite him. "I'm in half a mind to agree with the goblins and their suggestion to put a leash on you," he quipped. "And it's Bill, please Harry."

Harry's reply was cut off as a harsh shout for Bill rang out from the outside of the tent. The man in question, who had just reached for the pitcher of iced water, let out a groan as he stood back up. "No rest for the wicked…" he muttered, slumping out back into the Gedrosian heat.

' _Aaand he's gone again.'_

' _What on earth?'_ A pause. _'I can't believe you've just managed to amble your way onto a legendary find! It's a Lost City of Alexandria for Merlin's sake…'_

' _Well, unless you'd like the goblins to decapitate me, do try_ _ **not**_ _to go telling the world about it. Speaking of…'_

He stood in his chair, taking a peek out of the tent and finding no Bills or goblins anywhere near. It was perhaps late morning, so a majority of the on-site personnel would be within the palace by now. The book buzzed behind him.

' _Harry Potter, don't you dare go gallivanting off agai-'_ Harry closed the book shut, tucking both it and his pen into his backpack as he slipped out of the tent.

Now… where was the map-maker's tent again?

* * *

** A Lost City of Alexandria, Gedrosian Desert **   
** Ten days on site… **

"What do you know of how we utilise magic?"

Harry glanced up from his wandwork, wiping the sweat off his brow as he let the huge amount of sand he had been levitating drop.

"Ah ah!" Quirrel tutted, pointing to Harry's wand with the end of his pipe.

Groaning inwardly, Harry sweeped his wand upwards once again. Sluggishly, sand began to rise into the air once again. Gritting his teeth, Harry brought his other hand forwards and began to make slow, deliberate motions. With each push, slivers of golden grains lifted from the ground to join the amassing, whipping ball.

"Straighten up a bit, Harry. You're slouching," came the amused quip from a nearby Bill, who was sorting through various artefacts whilst keeping a curious eye on the training session.

Restraining the urge to flick the now _giant_ ball of sand towards the redhead, Harry pulled his shoulders out of their slump.

"Much better," Quirrel nodded, returning to his book. The man was sitting beneath a pleasant open-sided tent, sipping on a glass of iced tea as Harry toiled in the desert sun. "As you were saying?"

"I-its channelled through our bodies!" Harry ground out. His feet began to sink into the sands as he struggled to maintain the weight he was levitating.

"So it's an ambient energy we draw on?"

"Yes…" Harry paused, no longer adding to the now positively huge ball of sand in the sky. Any more, and there was no way he could hold it. "Or at least, _argh-_ it's the newest accepted… theory."

Quirrel hummed in amusement. "Ah yes, superseding the ludicrous ' _magical core'_ theory." He snorted at the notion. "I wonder which fool it was that came up with such a thing."

Harry's ear twitched in curiosity as he heard Quirrel walk over. The momentary lapse in concentration cost him as a large clump of sand slipped out of his hold. _Damnit…_

In the corner of his eye, he watched as Quirrel came to a stop beside him. "Yes, little Harry. It _is_ channelled through our bodies. Much like a wand, we are simply conduits for magic." He drew his wand, as if for emphasis. "Except unlike wands, we do not sit stagnant. We may deteriorate, and we may grow stronger, much like a muscle."

Harry didn't reply, feeling his limbs begin to grow numb as the huge ball of sand began to ever so slowly sink as his strength failed. _What is he getting at?_

Quirrel smiled. "So how does one grow a muscle?"

Harry bit down on his lips, and finally gave out as the amassed sand collapsed. He shielded his face as it buffeted outwards, but Quirrel had already swept it to the side with a swipe of his wand. Sinking to his knees, Harry sucked in gulping breaths. His arms felt like they were bloody shredded-

He paused abruptly.

_Oh…_

Brows furrowing, he looked up to a satisfied Quirrel. "Why the hell is that not taught in Hogwarts?"

The man just shrugged, offering Harry a hand. "Well, because it's just a theory of course," he replied innocently.

Harry just squinted in response, and Quirrel sniffed in amusement.

"Again," he ordered, walking back to his book and his iced tea. "And make it a square this time!"

* * *

** A Lost City of Alexandria, Gedrosian Desert **   
** Fourteen days on site… **

Scanning the body, Harry worried his bottom lip in thought.

_Should I take it?_

He wanted to.

He really, _really_ wanted to.

"After all why not… why shouldn't I keep it?" He whispered, his voice growing taut and raspy.

He held the expression for another second before a small chirp had his lips twitching. He glanced to the side and eyed the little sparrow that was perched on his shoulder. If he hadn't figured out that the spell was just a modified tracking charm, he would have been worried about being watched. As it was, Harry just snorted.

"That was a _terrible_ impression."

Rising slowly from his crouch, Harry silently breathed a prayer of thanks to Quirrel's uncanny foresight. The man had resized a pair of his own boots for Harry to use, and what a godsend it was in keeping the sand out of his damned socks.

He glanced down at the corpse of the mummified soldier laying sprawled across the sand at his feet. The man was nothing but dried skin and bones now, rotted away along with most of his equipment. However, the sheathed dagger strapped to his rusted chestplate looked astoundingly _pristine_.

Harry would be willing to bet that the thing was magical, enchanted in some way or the other with at least an impervious charm.

He sighed softly. "If anyone found out I took it, there'd be _hell_ to pay."

The sparrow chirped once more, as if agreeing. Harry scoffed at the notion. It was obviously just reacting to noise, however the complexity to the conjuration was a marvel in and of itself. _I gotta squeeze that spell out of him somehow..._

Turning, the he began to move away from the incredible find. _Stealing_ a potentially priceless magical artefact was somewhat out of his proverbial paygrade. He had been lucky enough to get away with just exploring on his lonesome, sneaking away whenever Bill was distracted for a moment.

He made it perhaps three steps before he paused, brows furrowed and ears straining intensely.

"- _ucking pie...ce of fi-th. That -ittle Idiot… -ucker can_ 't even draw a kelpie-sucking map properly!"

Harry froze, eyes widening in alarm as the horribly guttural, crass, and _incredibly_ angry voice grew louder.

"Gavelgrin will rip his tiny galleons off with his teeth tonight, AFTER breeding those doxy-titted Graphorns he calls his daught-" The rambling tirade of vulgarities came to an abrupt halt as with a heavy chink of chainmail and plate, a goblin Ruinbreaker came to a halt in front of the doors Harry had left wide open. A horned helmet with dark slits for eyes swung to level its gaze onto said boy.

A moment passed as the two figures stared at each other.

Harry wet his lips nervously, eyeing the _huge,_ behemoth of a goblin from head to toe. With a start, he realised that this was the goblin who had cowed the others into obedience when Quirrel had brought him to the Lost City.

' _The' Gobbo knight…_ An embarrassed heat crawled up the back of his neck, even as he dashed the thought. Why the hell was he still calling them that? If it inadvertently slipped out, the goblins would rip him to piece-

"What in the name of Azog's salty second cock are YOU doing here?"

The half-growl, half-roar made Harry jump, even as the _ridiculous_ vernacular registered in his brain. His mouth opened and closed fruitlessly, tongue shifting but no words being formed.

The large goblin growled threateningly, and Harry watched in disbelief as the creature's breastplate actually _vibrated_ from the noise. " **OI**!"

The secondary shout seemed to grant Harry his voice back as he awkwardly raised a hand in greeting. "Uhm… good _morning_?" He winced internally. _Oh for the love of god, Potter._

The helmeted head cocked to the side slightly, before the armoured goblin began to stomp into the room, his greaves smashing divots into the sandy floor. Harry tensed up subconsciously as the large figure came to a stop a few paces before him, towering over him by several inches and at least three times as wide.

" _Good_ morning?" The tone was low, inquisitive. "By whose decree? Gavelgrin will butcher the cur that dares to name it so!"

Harry steadfastly straightened up as he resisted the urge to cough. "I… heard some other goblin say it."

A large, helmeted head lowered to level with his own, and Harry resisted the _ridiculous_ urge to reach out and fondle the pink and fuzzy knife-like ears that jut out from the sides.

"Who? What did he look like?"

Internally slapping at his brain to give him _something_ , Harry inadvertently remembered the foul-smelling goblin who had berated his babysitter earlier in the morning, for nothing save to stroke his own ego. "He, uh, was small, and wore a red fez." The helmet tilted slightly, and Harry felt a bead of sweat form on the side of his temple. "He was also wearing two monocles."

A sound like a thunderclap echoed through the room, and Harry looked down to find the goblin had punched his fist into his hand.

"Wigglebottom! That conniving centaur sucker… Gavelgrin will devour his soul and steal his stupid hat!" He shook his head vehemently as Harry paled. The notion that he had just sentenced a life to a gruesome end was more than a little disconcerting. " _Good_ morning… this is a HORRIBLE morning!"

Desperate, Harry jumped on the change of subject. "Would you care to share as to why?" The helmet snapped back to him. "Perhaps I can help?" Harry wanted to slap himself. He had meant to sound confident… why the hell had he squeaked like a scared housemaid?

The goblin, 'Gavelgrin' Harry assumed, stared at him for a moment. The double-headed axe peeking over the shoulder of the creature didn't exactly set the most comfortable of tones. The damned thing was positively _glowing_ with runes…

Suddenly, the goblin thrust up the unfurled scroll he was reading, shoving it into Harry's face with a frustrated huff. "Look at this!"

Harry blinked, leaning back slightly so that he could follow the instruction without going cross-eyed. "I'm looking." Turning his head, he tried to make sense of the map that was quite obviously turned upside-down. "What am I looking for, exactly?"

Gavelgrin frowned as he watched the boy tilt his head, and in turn tilted the map to match him. "It's wrong! Gavelgrin is thirty minutes late for the latest excavation because that stupid, pixie-fucking goblin drew the map wrong."

Harry winced at the volume, tilting his head the other way and subsequently scowling as the goblin mirrored his movements. "Right… could you turn it the right way around?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry blinked, before looking up at the Ruinbreaker. "The map…" His scowl morphed into a suspicious frown. "It's upside down."

Gavelgrin looked down at the back of the map in his hands, before leaning around it and looking for himself. "No it's not."

Harry's brow rose incredulously. "Have… you been following an upside down map all this time?"

A low thrum produced by inhuman vocal chords echoed through the room as Gavelgrin snarled. "Sparrowspell picked a real trout-gobbler, didn't he? The map is _not_ , upside down." He pointed an armoured finger at Harry, wiggling it admonishingly. "It's upside up, you stupid little human."

Harry nodded, lips twitching furiously. "Mhmm… so which wing of the Palace are we in right now?"

Gavelgrin reeled back, and Harry assumed that there was quite the expression on the creature's face beneath his helm. "Did you leave half your brain behind when you crawled out of your mother? You know, goblins normally cull such disappointing offspring, along with exterminating the parents to erase the faulty lineage." At Harry's faintly unsettled reaction, Gavelgrin shrugged. "You and Gavelgrin are standing in the East wing."

Harry pointed to it on the map, "This section here is where you are right now?" Gavelgrin peeked around the map again, before nodding. Harry sucked in a breath, desperately trying to maintain himself. "So if that's the case, then why is there an upside-down 'W' where the 'E' should be on the compass?"

Gavelgrin's eyes snapped to the little dial in the bottom corner, staring at it, before snapping back to Harry who had an iron clamp on his bottom lip with his teeth to stop himself from laughing.

The process repeated a few more times, before Gavelgrin slowly rotated the map. Harry's finger remained extended, and it was now pointing at the _Western_ wing of Alexander's palace.

Silence reigned for several minutes, before the goblin's hands began to shake.

" _ **FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!**_ "

The roar of pure, unadulterated rage had Harry snorting violently as Gavelgrin ripped the map into tiny little pieces, throwing them to the ground before drawing his axe and hacking at it some more. Froth began to sputter out from the bottom of his helmet, dripping across his breastplate like thick globs of foamy glue.

Harry was forced to watch as the raging goblin turned and sprinted to the nearest marble pillar, a large, gaudy thing that was one of the few left still standing in the room. His axe _smashed_ clean through it, cleaving an enormous chunk of stone out of its base.

Harry's humour quickly gave way to shock, before turning into worry as the stone began to crack.

"Ahh, hold on a minute-"

' _SMACK!'_

Gavelgrin let loose another wild one and Harry's eyes widened as the pillar began to shift ever so slowly, not unlike an old tree giving in to harsh winds.

"Wait! STOP!"

The goblin paused, axe half poised for another swing. However it was far too late.

A colossal groan of stone on stone rumbled through the room as the pillar toppled over, almost as if in slow motion. Harry tried to backpedal out of the way, stumbling slightly as his feet were caught in the sand.

The pillar fell, and Harry let out a pained wheeze as a blur of metal slammed into him with the speed of a charging bull. His feet left the ground, carried off by Gavelgrin who had smashed into him just as several tonnes of marble crashed into and _through_ the floor.

Both of their eyes widened in shock as the sandy floor suddenly gave out beneath them, spilling into an inky black abyss below with them following shortly after.

A scream tore from Harry's throat as he began to freefall through an endless darkness, the only light being that from the hole in the palace up above that was _rapidly_ growing smaller.

He began to spiral, his body slowly tumbling into a wild spin-

-a large hand suddenly grabbed his wrist, and Harry's scream was smothered by scarred metal and leather. Thick arms wrapped tightly around his midsection like a vice, and he felt his wildly flailing body stabilise against its own will.

"Stop screaming, idiot pinkskin."

The voice growled into his ear, shocking Harry into stillness.

"-and don't you _dare_ leave Gavelgrin down here if Gavelgrin dies."

Suddenly, Harry was forcefully rotated and found himself now staring back up at the _tiny_ speck of light that was the hole above.

Despite the situation, a curious thought entered his brain.

_How deep is thi-_

' _ **CRUNCH!**_ '

* * *

** Beneath the Palace, A Lost City of Alexandria, Gedrosian Desert **   
** Meanwhile... **

Sand whipped around in a chaotic frenzy, at speeds that could tear flesh from bone. It was only the barrier the goblins had erected that kept it at bay, and yet as if it was alive, the enchanted sands gored at the transparent shields mercilessly.

"Sparrowspell, give us a hand over here."

Breaking his eyes off the ruined structure that was the second Veil of Death, Quirrel stepped back over to where the corpse of the minotaur lay sprawled the black marble. Whatever magic that had bound the creature to unlife had dispersed. A few of his spells alongside Gavelgrin and his monstrous axe had made sure of that.

Circling around the large corpse, he quickly pulled his silks over his nose as he found a group of goblins in the midst of carving into the creature's skull. _Good grief, a shame it took us this long to get here… maybe the smell would have been a little better if we had._

After slaying the undead monstrosity, the entire chamber had seemingly _awoken_. Sand had burbled and broiled, and the monstrous storm had come to life. It had nearly been the death of them, for out of the sands came crocodiles and golems and traps and more. Only now had they managed to reach the marble platform once again, using a checkpoint system of runic barriers.

Wrinkling his nose at the costly setback, Quirrel glanced at the overseer of the… 'operation'.

"There's a pinger inside his head, we're opening it up but we need you and your little magic twig to diagnose it," the goblin stated, seemingly amused by the human's discomfort.

Quirrel nodded slowly at the mention of a 'pinger', knowing that it was a common slang amongst curse-breakers and Ruinbreakers for unidentified magical signatures.

He waited patiently as a pair of goblins scooped out the creature's brains. Thankfully, he only had to watch for a small while before the goblins stood back, nodding curtly to him.

Taking their place, Quirrel crouched down as he drew his wand. His brow rose as he stared at the sight before him.

He was staring at a circlet… or perhaps even a crown. _Why the hell is it in the middle of the brain?_

It was a hideous sight. It looked as if someone had shoved an expensive crown halfway into a bucket of pig slop. Not wanting to spend any more time lounging around by the pungent phenomenon, Quirrel got to work.

It took a moment, although eventually he stood up, groaning slightly as his knees creaked.

"Well?" Came a gruff call from behind.

Quirrel bowed extravagantly as he stepped away, "Dig away, it's clear."

The goblin didn't spare him a second glance as he immediately began barking orders.

Quirrel let him be, his eyes drifting back over to the broken veil as various high-ranking Ruinbreakers examined the thing. Gavelgrin would have been there had he not been selected for an expedition in the Eastern wing.

Absently, his mind wandered to his student as he fingered the spare wand tucked away by his waist.

Having Harry under his tutelage was… surprisingly entertaining.

He was skilled for his age, the tell-tale touch of professional tutorship outside of Hogwarts was plain to see. However the young wizard's overly curious mindset that clashed violently with his wild manipulation of magic was… _interesting_ , to say the least.

Quirrel grinned as the now infamous adjective passed through his head.

It also helped that he just _adored_ messing with the usually unflappable boy.

"What in Gork's name is that?"

"It's fekkin dinner is what it is! Snatch it!"

Scowling at the sudden uproar of noise that dared to interrupt his reveries, Quirrel turned to berate the boorish goblins. His scathing words were half formed inside his mouth, before they abruptly died on his tongue.

Far across the way, zipping in between the pillars and making a beeline for him, a tiny sparrow desperately propelled its way through the air.

He locked eyes with the creature, and with a flick of his wand, dispelled it.

It _exploded_ into a shower of caustic black sparks.

Quirrel's eyes widened in alarm.

"Sparrowspell, what in Grimgor's sticky black shaft was tha- Wah!"

The goblin was curtly silenced as Quirrel's form suddenly _blurred_ into movement, his whipping silks and robes fluttering in a mutated mockery of a songbird's wings. A cacophony of noise echoed through the chamber as the chirping of a hundred birds rattled through the room, all emanating from the wizard and his barely restrained magic.

Quirrel's features were twisted into a hawkish scowl as he pulled his silken scarf over his face.

_Black_ _sparks_ …

The colour reserved solely to designate mortal peril.

* * *

** Somewhere else... **

Green eyes snapped open, and immediately closed shut as freezing cold water began to irritate them. Reeling back, Harry pulled violently out of the water's surface. Blinking wildly, he glanced around and immediately frowned.

He was in the burned forest of ash and cinder once again, knelt at the edge of an obsidian lake. Expectantly, his eyes rose to scour the opposite bank.

He was not disappointed.

" _That was quite the fall."_

Harry wiped his face dry as he stood, shaking the ash from the silky, middle-eastern attire he was wearing. Eventually, he looked over to the man made of smoke that stood patiently across from him. "Hello to you as well," he replied, rather lamely. "This again, huh?"

" _Indeed._ " The figure made a vague gesture. " _They say it takes the third for happenstances to pass yonder the realm of coincidence._ "

_Yonder? Settle down there, Shakespeare._ Remembering that the entity could apparently read his thoughts, Harry quickly made a dismissive gesture. "I think we can afford to bypass that rule."

He got the impression that the other individual was glaring at him, although it made no comment. Eventually, it huffed. " _Hmph, agreed._ "

Harry regarded the figure, a thought suddenly striking him. "Are you always here?"

The smokey figure seemed to stir slightly, as if pondering the question. " _Intriguing… I cannot seem to tell._ " At Harry's confused frown, he shrugged. " _In that case, I believe the most logical assumption would be to answer: no._ "

"So you're only here when I am?"

" _... I believe so._ " As Harry stewed on the words and studied the burnt droves of black trees and endless fields of ash around him, the entity pointed up. " _Oh dear, that looks like it's going to be unpleasant._ "

Harry cocked his head in a query, before turning around and looking up. His jaw dropped.

Black water, like an upside-down sea of oil layered the sky.

It was _falling_.

Harry's eyes widened, the reflection of the water in his irises growing _incredibly_ close.

" _Giveth Shakespeare thine's regards, if you will."_

Harry ignored the sassy remark, eyes locked instead on the phenomenon that was about to _flatten_ him.

"Azog's sweaty balls-"

' _ **CRASH!**_ '

The sea slammed into him, and Harry's eyes snapped open once more to find himself sinking through icy waters. There was enough dim light to make out that he was very clearly not in the burnt forest anymore.

The notion was reinforced by the heavy form that slumped off him, the arms that had been wrapped tightly around him unlatched limply. Harry watched, alarmed as Gavelgrin's broken and battered form groggily descended at a rapid pace.

Panicking slightly, Harry began to claw through the water as he desperately tried to catch up to the unconscious Ruinbreaker. He ignored the pain in his aching body, throwing it to the back of his mind.

The goblin had absorbed almost all of the impact, however some of the energy had still transferred through into Harry.

He brushed passed the bioluminescent fungus which remained the sole provider of light, glancing around warily even as he kicked his feet to swim faster. Cave walls surrounded him on all sides, ranging from ten to fifteen feet out at most.

It reminded him of a somewhat large well.

He thanked whatever gods were watching as Gavelgrin's descent was abruptly halted by an outcropping of sorts. The goblin folded over the jutting stone with a force that made Harry wince, however thankfully, he had stopped sinking.

A surge of hope and adrenalin flushed through Harry, and in record time he found himself at the Ruinbreaker's side. He scoured his surroundings, feeling _extremely_ uneasy.

The walls of the pool were honeycombed at this point. It looked more like grey coral, than stone.

Feeling his lungs twitch every so slightly, Harry was jolted into action as he took hold of Gavelgrin by his chestplate. He pulled…

_Oh give me a break!_

The goblin was _heavy_.

_He's wearing nearly a grown man's weight in steel, of course he's bloody well heavy!_

Panic began to overcome Harry, even as he fruitlessly struggled to find a grip that might _somehow_ allow him to haul the oversized goblin up.

His hand brushed against the wall, and Harry flinched as a sharp, needling pain stabbed at his skin. His eyes widened as he pulled his hand away, leaving a crimson trail of blood in the water as he did so.

The water grew frigid, and a horrid shiver crawled up the back of his spine as he watched a small, almost worm-like creature emerge from the hole in the wall. Rings of teeth stained with his blood pulsated disgustingly as the eyeless aberration locked onto his presence.

All around him, Harry watched with abject horror as out of _every_ single little hole, a worm squeezed itself out.

Deep below in the darkness where the moss did not reach, Harry felt something _large_ shift. The water rippled and churned, however he wasn't granted the liberty of dwelling on it.

The worms began to move, shifting and sliding through the water. They tangled with each other, looking like a matted mass of ropey black hair as they slowly began to hone in on his position.

" _Sssuch a vile death, isss it not?"_

The voice hissed through the water, slicing at his ears with its raspy tenor.

It came from below.

" _I sshall mourn you, for as long as my memory lasstss."_

Harry's eyes grew wild as he grabbed Gavelgrin and _heaved_. The water around him began to warp as his magic flared in desperation. The goblin shifted…

...yet not enough.

A drowned out scream tore from Harry's throat as he felt the equivalent of knives boring into his back as a cluster of the worms found their prey. " _NO!_ _Get_ _ **OFF**_ _of me!"_ He knew he was wasting air, however he struggled to retain himself even as he abandoned the Ruinbreaker, clawing desperately for the surface.

" _Basileus?"_

Harry faintly registered the shocked whisper, however was forced to disregard it as he watched hordes upon hordes of the worms emerge from above, blocking his escape.

His frantic movements came to a slow, gradual halt as the edges of his vision began to dim. There was no way he was making it through _that_.

" _Basileus!"_ The voice grew panicked now, filled with despair.

_I must be going delirious if I'm hearing voices down here…_ As if fate saw fit to reward his deduction, his chest suddenly began to spasm painfully, desperate for oxygen. He ignored the burning, instead focusing on observing the writhing, wriggling mass that inched ever closer. " _I think I'd rather be eaten by a vampire._ " The words slipped from the tip of his tongue, and he listened with a detached sort of curiosity as it carried clearly through the water. _"I can't believe_ _ **this**_ _is how I die..."_

The stirring from below suddenly became a _maelstrom_ of movement. Water began to whip and churn as a force buffeted Harry from beneath. " _ **NO!**_ _"_

The suddenly induced current was enough to dislodge Gavelgrin from his perch, and for some inane reason, Harry instinctively reached out to grab at the goblin. _He's probably dead by now anyway…_

Nevertheless, his fingers only brushed at the creatures armour, and Harry watched as the goblin fell into the abyss.

Lances of acute pain spread across his form as more and more of the worms found purchase or inadvertently brushed against him. They were like scalpels, burrowing into the flesh and gnawing away with their grinding-

' _ **SNAP!**_ _'_

Darkness.

No… not quite. There was still some light seeping through cracks in front of him. They were angular, as if gaps between teeth.

Harry had no more time to ponder it longer as with a large crash of water, _air_ suddenly flooded the space around him. He could scarcely believe it as he watched the water seep out of the small compartment he was squished in, almost forgetting to open his mouth and breathe.

His chest began to heave, his vocal chords thrumming as he greedily sucked in huge mouthfuls of air. The dark spots in his vision began to vanish, just as the compartment suddenly opened like a beartrap being pulled apart.

Tumbling out of the confined space, Harry splattered across hard rock, coughing and spluttering as his leaden limbs begrudgingly began to respond. A sharp piercing sensation had him hissing, and he glanced down to find one of the long worms still embedded into the skin on his wrist.

Ripping it away furiously, he slammed the creature into the ground, smashing it into paste with an aching fist.

" _Basileus…"_

Harry froze.

_I wasn't hallucinating…_

Rolling over onto his side, for his legs still refused to move, Harry glanced behind him and subsequently felt his heart stop in his chest.

Looming half-submerged out of the pool he and Gavelgrin had apparently fallen into, a snake of incredible size was staring at him.

A snake made of bone, and _nothing_ else.

It's body was nothing but knuckles of vertebrae and ribs, and attached to it was an angular, skeletal head that had what looked to be an old _spear_ stabbed through it. Its eye sockets would have been hollow if it wasn't for the armoured Ruinbreaker that was _wedged_ into one of them.

Harry would have laughed… if it wasn't for the fact that he was looking at what looked to be a fifty-foot long undead snake.

A small shake saw the goblin deposited roughly onto the ground, and the serpent looked back up at him with what Harry could now see were two glowing spheres of white energy.

" _I wasss not too late!_ "

Harry blinked. The voice sounded almost… feminine, out of the water. Although the magical hiss that laced it seemed to almost slither directly into his brain. " _Yeah…"_ he replied dumbly, unable to find anything else to say.

The monstrosity just stared at him, almost as if in _awe_.

" _What…"_ He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Sucking in another deep breath, as if the air around him was limited somehow, Harry steeled himself. " _How are we conversing?"_

The large head tilted, as if in confusion. " _I do not understand your question."_

His brows furrowed. _What the hell?_ " _I mean how are you speaking English?_ "

The giant serpent recoiled, the bones clicking against each other as it hissed, seemingly baffled. " _Eene-glish? Forgive me, Basileus, I have never heard of such a thing."_

Harry's brows shot up in surprise, before slowly, a thoughtful look overcame him. Considering the Palace's age and location, he was likely a fool to think the English language had reached Persia during Alexander's reign.

The snake suddenly leaned forwards, interrupting the boy's musings. " _Are… you not aware that you speak the tongue of serpents?"_ It asked, both dubious and intrigued by the thought.

Harry's eyes widened. " _Parseltongue?"_ he whispered in disbelief.

However, to his great confusion, the serpent just cocked its head. " _Parsel...tongue? No Basileus, you mishear."_ It wriggled closer. _"The tongue of serpents,"_ it pronounced clearly.

" _The tongue of serpents…"_ The words seemed to carry weight, even as he said them.

" _Are you not aware?"_

" _Apparently not."_

Another tilt of the head. " _Well, you_ _ **are**_ _speaking the tongue of serpents."_ It assured helpfully.

" _Thanks,_ " Harry muttered drily.

The sound of rumbling water had him glancing up, startled. His brow rose as he watched the surface of the pool burble and thrash. Confusion reigned for a few moments, before he realised that the snake was wiggling its tail in apparent delight at the praise, not unlike a puppy.

A giant, fifty-foot long, undead puppy made of bones…

" _You are most welcome, Basileus."_

Harry just gawked at the undead snake, his face decidedly neutral. _How do I keep finding myself in these situations?_ Absently, he glanced up and immediately felt his heart skip a beat. There, far above looking as if it were the sun in a dark sky, he could see the hole in the palace floor they had fallen through.

If… if he could make it up there somehow, he could yet survive. The only problem was...

His eyes lowered to give the monster before him a glance. _Will it let me leave?_ The question bounced eerily around in his head. He was hesitant to ask it, fearing the potential answer. " _You saved me."_ He paused, staring into the creature's _eyes_. " _Can I assume that you mean me no harm?"_

The rumbling of the water stopped as the large serpent flinched, as if struck. " _I would not dare!_ " It hissed, seemingly outraged at the notion. " _Why… why would you conceive such a thought?"_

Harry blinked, taken aback slightly by the distraught query.

" _Does my appearance unsettle you?"_

The soft, almost forlorn follow up almost had Harry barking out a denial, however he restrained himself. Without question, the creature's appearance did indeed freak the daylights out of him… however, insulting the being that had him at its mercy was not something Harry thought to be terribly clever.

He found himself in a difficult situation. If the serpent spoke true, then he was indeed a Parseltongue. How and why wasn't important, _yet_. All that mattered right now was that the ability gave him some form of authority, if the creature's apparent deference meant anything. _I need to play my cards right…_

" _At first, yes_ ," he replied finally, watching as the creature seemed to shrink in on itself in response to his admission. " _However now that I know not to fear you, I'm finding it hard to look away."_

_Be flattered,_ Harry demanded inwardly. _Blush for me, you damned sack of bones._

If the creature had brows to furrow, Harry was sure it would have done so. " _Truly?"_ Now out of the water, the smooth, almost lilting hiss was easier to decode.

_Bollocks… disbelief will have to do._

Masking his need to swallow nervously, Harry tactfully avoided answering and instead crawled to his feet, wobbling slightly as he did so. Immediately the serpent moved forwards, its bones scraping harshly against the stone. Tossing his chances to fate, Harry took a gamble and resisted the urge to flee as it moved closer.

It came to a stop before him, lowering its large skull so that he could lean against it for support. Harry let loose an imperceptible sigh of relief. He had half expected to be bitten clean in two…

Blinking as his vision began to blur, he glanced down and found a pool of blood gathering at his feet, running freely from the wounds the worms had inflicted. _Those disgusting things did a number on me…_

Almost as if the world agreed with him, his knee suddenly buckled. A startled cry slipped from his lips as his hand pressed against the serpent's lowered skull, smearing a bloody streak across the smooth bone.

" _Basileus!"_

His breath was coming up short, and a sudden wave of delirium washed over him as he stumbled once more. " _W-why… do you call me that?"_ he whispered, idle curiosity getting the better of him.

" _I… I do not know."_

Harry nodded sagely, as if the near useless reply meant anything to him. Absently, his scattered eyes locked onto the broken spear that was stabbed deep into the serpent's skull, just above the brow. Acting on impulse, he reached for it with weak fingers.

Harry winced as he stretched over the serpent, desperate to grab onto the object. Why did he want it so bad?The thought ran through his head, even as his mouth asked questions of its own volition. " _Who are you? Why are you here?"_

It took a long while for the creature to answer. _"I cannot remember, forgive me. I have lain here for so long, memory has addled away."_ The osseous serpent suddenly hissed in alarm as Harry's blood dripped down its face. " _Basileus, you are bleeding grievously!"_

A sodden laugh escaped Harry. " _You think?"_

His fingers wrapped around the wooden haft.

" _I do indeed! I-What… Basileus what are you doing?"_

A moment passed, and Harry pursed his lips. _Well that was anticlimactic..._

Only in a more lucid mind would Harry realise how incredibly _stupid_ it was to tempt the gods of irony like so.

He pulled the spear free, and immediately Harry felt the serpent of bone beneath him shudder as if an earthquake had suddenly struck. A violent hiss began to rasp through the cavern as the undead snake convulsed, its fanged jaw chittering as it spasmed.

_Ah, that's more like it!_

Harry's addled satisfaction at being proved correct was abruptly quelled, replaced instead by a horrendous pain as his hand began to _burn_. An agonized scream tore through his throat as _something_ shot up his spine, forcing his back to arch and locking his muscles taut. The creature of bone and undeath he had been leaning against suddenly vanished from beneath him, and the Parseltongue spilled across the cavern floor as electricity began to crackle around him.

The scent of burning ozone filled his nostrils.

Another gargantuan wave of pain flushed through him, lighting his senses up like a beacon.

Images flashed through his mind as if someone was slowly spinning the spool from a movie reel.

In one moment, he was moving rather low to ground alongside a young man, or rather, a young warrior. He was dressed in regal robes that did nothing to hide the gorgeous set of Greco-Persian armour beneath. A fearsome helm shaped into the visage of a snarling lion obscured his features.

In the next, he was diving forwards to protect the same man from abrupt spellfire. A sickly red flash lit up the room.

Pain flared across his body as Harry felt his scales part and the bone beneath crack. A strangled cry of ' _-erah!'_ was all he heard before the world turned to darkness.

Another flash, and now he was lunging for the lion-headed warlord, jaws snapping and eyes glassed over. His body was moving on its own, and he could hear himself wailing in agony, pleading for himself to stop.

The tip of a gorgeous spearhead met his charge, the golden warrior behind it grimset. Tears fell from his blinding green eyes.

The flickering images came to a strangled halt, and Harry felt his own mind grow leaden.

Unconsciousness took him, the blood loss and backlash from removing the spear reaping its toll.

However, he swore he heard the chirping of songbirds...


	6. Chapter 5

_He stood a child of the gods, a warrior borne from legends past that would churn the fabrics of the future for an eternity. Green eyes, like the most deadly of venoms levelled its gaze across the land._

_**His** _ _land._

_Armies stood in legions, bearing the crest of the Vergina Sun and embossed with black and gold. Fresh blood coated their arms and armour, their sandals were steeped with muck and gristle. It was the sight of an army, victorious and triumphant after a battle that had deafened the clashes between the gods above._

_**His** _ _army._

_His regal head, bearing the grim demeanour of the Nemean Lion cast in gold as a helm, swung to level its gaze upon her. Those flaming cold eyes of his were alight with life, with glory. He smiled a fanged smile, bearing gleaming teeth and a forked tongue. It was the picture of greatness._

_**His** _ _greatness._

" _King Porus fought well."_

_His voice was as smooth as honey, salted with the dregs of Olympus itself. The words were anything but mundane, slithering from his mouth like a hissing warble of divinity._

_A serpent, horned, and with eyes of petrifying gold nodded its head. Its flank was bloodied with light scratches and scuffs from blade and spellfire, however it too held its royal head high from where it remained beside the human._

" _A worthy foe, Basileus," it hissed. "But his submission to you was inevitable."_

" _As it should be." He grinned. "As it is destined to be for all in my way."_

_The serpent snickered in agreement, before its countenance grew solemn. "Does the sand still call to you?" It asked. "Those voices you hear in your sleep."_

_The triumphant smile faded, even as his legions roared in victory. The sound was deafening, booming across the river Hydaspes._

" _It does, and they do."_

" _Will you answer?"_

_A pause. "I shall."_

_The sunlight faded upon the declaration, and dark clouds gathered overhead. A grim omen, the serpent knew. "I wish you would not. I fear devastation awaits, in the guise of false glory."_

" _It very well may, but it will not topple I." The gilded butt of his Xyston slammed into the sand. "If Death calls for the soul of Alexander the Great, then I will stare him in the face and dare him to claim it."_

_The serpent remained silent for a moment, apprehensive. "Where does he wait?"_

_Green eyes, beaming like jewels amidst a solar flare narrowed as its gaze turned back, towards Persia. "Gedrosia."_

_The word echoed in the wind, mingling amidst the cries of Macedonian phalanxes, all of whom were chanting his name._

" _Death waits in Gedrosia."_

* * *

** Scotland, Great Britain **

Harry shot awake with a start, chest heaving with cold breaths as his beaming eyes slowly dimmed from the frightening lustre they had been shining with. His head was pounding, and he could still taste the scent of blood in the air, the feel of sunlight scorching at his scale-

… _Scales?_

He glanced down, confused.

What on earth had that been?

_Another dream? It felt more like a memory…_

Feeling the dryness of his lips, Harry swallowed thickly and glanced around, observing his surroundings.

White.

He blinked uncomfortably, squinting slightly at the brightness around him. The sheets of the bed he was sitting in, the curtains around him, the ceiling, the floor, it was all white. It reminded him of the stereotypical muggle hospitals.

Taking a moment to ease his eyes to the sight, he pushed the sheets away and stretched out his aching body. _Where am I?_

The last thing he had remembered was…

He sighed, palming his face in irritation. _The spear thingy… what the hell got into me?_ Granted he had been less than lucid at the time, nevertheless, how stupid did you have to be to yank on a broken weapon that was sticking out from the skull of a giant _undead_ snake?

 _Harry Potter levels,_ was the answer that rang through his head. _Harry Potter levels of stupid._

What had happened to that thing? It had saved his life after all, and despite its appearance it didn't seem hostile. If anything, it seemed almost subse-

He paused.

 _Parseltongue_. The word echoed through his head like the ringing slam of a hammer upon anvil.

He was a parseltongue.

He knew of the mythical language, being in Slytherin himself. Even then, almost every non-muggleborn witch or wizard in the magical world had at least heard of the mythical language. It was Salazar Slytherin's famous facet, and more recently, Lord _Voldemort's_.

_So why am I able to speak it?_

The question, as expected, went unsatisfyingly unanswered.

Pondering it would offer him no leads, so instead Harry returned his attention to the situation at hand. Quirrel had likely brought him here, he had heard the man's curious magic ringing through his ears just before he had lost consciousness. But where was 'here?'

"St. Mungos?" He murmured aloud.

"Not quite."

The words were spoken just as the white curtains were pulled aside rather spontaneously, and Harry stifled his flinch as a thin, hassled looking woman in her mid-fifties rushed in with a tray of what looked to be potions and tonics.

"It's been a mighty long while since I've had to deal with a fool who had run afoul of Dravenscular bloodworms, long enough to be considered as _never_ , in fact." The admonishing tone woke Harry from his lethargy rather quickly. "And what manner of deviancy did you get up to over the summer? It looks like you've taken a dive into one of those muggle blending contraptions." Her eyes were admiring the impressive litany of scars across his bare torso as she spoke.

Harry's world shattered around him. _Oh for god's sake not this old bint!_ "Madame Pomfrey," he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Pomfrey's narrowed. "School has yet to even begin, Potter, and you're _already_ hogging the beds in my infirmary?" At Harry's sour expression, she sniffed in amusement. "Well, if you're already awake and talking, you might as well hop up and let me have a look at you."

Seeing as that Pomfrey was blocking his only escape route should he try to flee, Harry made to pull the covers to the side before abruptly pausing as he realised something. _Why am I naked?_

Leaving the covers where they were, he instead cleared his throat. "What have you done to me this time, you old hag?"

Pomfrey squinted at him, "Aside from save your life? _Again?_ " She didn't give him a chance to respond, instead clapping her hands loudly, making Harry wince. "Now, up you little vagabond! You will not be leaving here until _I_ deem you cleared," she declared snappily.

Deliberately stalling, Harry reached over for the pitcher of water by the bedside. "I'm assuming Quirrel brought me here?"

" _Professor_ Quirrel, thank you Mister Potter."

Drawing back from a huge gulp of delectably cool water, Harry nodded. "Right…" He then blinked. "Wait, _professor_?"

Pomfrey gave him a weird look. "Yes."

"What in Azog's sweaty nutsack?"

"MISTER POTTER!"

Harry winced again at the shrill noise. _Damned goblins…_ "Sorry, it's just that I didn't… I wasn't aware he was coming to teach at Hogwarts."

Still somewhat incensed, the medi-witch gave him a curious glance. "He did not tell you? He gave the impression that you were studying under him?"

Harry's eye twitched somewhat. "No he did _not_ tell me, and yes, I am."

"Strange," the woman muttered, before shrugging and clapping once more. "Now, **up**!"

Unable to find anything else to stall with, Harry offered her a peevish glare. "Well fetch me my clothes would you, I'm starkers for some damned reason."

Pomfrey regarded him incredulously. " _For some reason_?" she mimicked. "Mister Potter, how on earth did you expect me to remove the three dozen or so worms from the inside of your body _whilst_ keeping you modest?"

Harry blanched. _Three… three_ _ **dozen**_ _worms?_ "I-inside?"

An evil look entered Pomfrey's as she took in his horror. "Oh yes, wriggling all over, growing fat off your blood." She shook her head. "There hasn't been a case of the dangerous parasites since the Middle-ages! I cannot possibly fathom how or where you ran into so many-"

"-you got them all, right?" Harry interrupted, subdued.

Pomfrey's brow furrowed. "I _think_ so, Mister Potter... But if you would bloody well get out of the bed, I could then check and perhaps _know_ so."

She barely finished the sentence before Harry leapt out of the sheets at mach one, his eyes locked on the now slightly pink welts that had once been cylindrical wounds gouged into his flesh.

Drawing her wand, Pomfrey tutted softly as she poked at one of the welts, resulting in a sharp intake of breath from the boy. "Good, that one's removed."

A nugget of suspicion entered Harry's mind as she withdrew her wand. _That 'one'?_

He hissed again as she jabbed at another welt.

"Check," she muttered, her wand tip moving to the next wound. Her lip had quirked ever so slightly at the corner in response to the murderous glare she was receiving. "You should know, this specific species of bloodworm causes intense pain upon entry, however secrete a powerful numbing agent once inside so that their victim remains blissfully unaware of their presence. They only burrow one way however, and whilst a worm lives, their secretions will not fade."

Harry swallowed thickly. _You've got to be kidding me._

"I must ' _probe'_ every entry point and check for a response from your nervous system." Her amused eyes met his. "Do let me know _every_ time it hurts, would you Mister Potter?"

"I hate you-OW!"

"Check!"

* * *

** An hour or so later… **

Harry's lips were pursed in distaste as he strode down the halls of Hogwarts, muttering lowly to himself as he did so. He wasn't even taking in the grandeur sights and sounds around him, as he often did when within the ancient castle.

The blasted mediwitch had stabbed him with her _unusually_ pointy wand exactly thirty-six times…

...before deciding that it was best to be safe and doing it all over again, except _slower._

Walking beside the thoroughly incensed teen, Quirrel ably ignored the angry growls of 'hag' and 'old bint' and a rather impressive selection of other terms that made their way into his ears as he let Harry vent.

He would have to pay this 'old slag Pomfrey' a visit at some point in time. She must prove quite the character to have upturned his apprentice's _usually_ cool demeanour on its head so… effectively.

Eventually, Harry's grumpy mumbling came to a gradual halt, and Quirrel quickly took that as his queue to interject before the boy relapsed into vulgarities. Coughing lightly, he let one of his silky fabrics reach over to pat the boy on the shoulder. "Consider this, at least you're alive."

He suffered the young man's withering glare with a chuffed smirk, however his demeanour quickly grew solemn if not a little curious. The circumstance in which he had found the boy had left him in the highest state of baffled confusion he had felt in years.

Barreling through the palace halls in the western wing, he had emerged into a room that, for all intents and purposes, looked as if it had once housed an angry giant. The floor had completely caved in, revealing a gargantuan chasm that fell hundreds of feet down into an underground cavern system beneath Alexandria.

 _That_ discovery by itself was a goldmine, and the on-site goblins who had deemed the western wing a ' _worthless_ venture' had quite literally had their asses handed to them by the Ruinbreakers.

Somehow, by some miracle, Harry had fallen into a single ten-foot wide pool. Even then, his survival was one in a million, water it may be, a fall from _that_ distance _should_ have turned Harry Potter into a red smear upon the bootheel of existence.

And then to survive a literal horde of bloodworms, crawl to the surface and nearly blow himself up in a magical explosion?

None of it made _any_ bloody sense.

There was only one thing he could say to the boy.

"Harry… what on earth happened?"

To his credit, Harry had long been mulling over the expected query ever since he had awoken.

What could he possibly say?

 _Keep it succinct_ , he decided.

"I was… doing a bit of _sightseeing_ and ran into that Gobbo knight, 'Gavelgrin'." He shook his head warily. "The maniac was following an upside down map and blew his gasket when I pointed it out to him. He started attacking the walls and pillars and ended up collapsing the damned floor."

A dull smack rang out through the area, and Harry glanced over to find Quirrel palming his face in abject exasperation.

"Oh for god's sake…"

"You can say that again."

The infamous cursebreaker sighed, shaking his head slowly as he dug into his robes for his pipe. "How did you survive the fall?"

Harry shrugged, "Gavelgrin again," he replied. "He grappled me in midair and took the brunt of the impact, I think he angled us towards the water too." he added after a moment of thought. It baffled Harry to think that the creature could swap between embodying either an utter half-wit, or a damned genius, at the flip of a switch.

Quirrel recoiled slightly, a brow raised in disbelief before a thoughtful mien spread over his face. "He did what now?" At Harry's shrug, he frowned and stuffed his pipe full of… _something_. "It would be hard to imagine a goblin going out of his way for a human... however." He paused, glancing at Harry curiously. "He did _technically_ owe you a debt."

That caught the boy's attention. "A debt?"

"Indeed. It was he who endangered you _after_ vouching for your presence after all, and no goblin let alone a ruinbreaker, will ever dare to fathom such disgrace." The man nodded to himself as he spoke, absently lighting his pipe with a snap of his fingers. "Remember not to offer your thanks if you see him again, he will quickly turn your gratitude against you."

Harry frowned, " _See him again?_ So I assume that means he survived?"

Quirrel snorted softly. "The thick-headed brute would have likely survived had he _not_ fallen in the water, as stubborn as he is." At Harry's cocked brow, he shrugged. "Yes he is alive, broken and battered, however he will be back in Alexandria within the hour I would assume."

Sensing that the man was about to ask 'how'he had escaped the worms and managed to blow himself up _again,_ Harry quickly diverted. He still needed time to work it out for himself, let alone someone else.

"Unlike you I suppose, hmm _Professor_?"

Quirrel's brow perked as he let go of the breath he had drawn to speak, and instead glanced at Harry, finding narrowed eyes staring at him. "Oh? Who told you?"

Harry sniffed, breaking the staredown as he looked away. "The old bint."

"Ah." The older wizard cleared his throat, attempting to hide his amusement. "A shame she couldn't keep her mouth shut whilst handling your worm."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm, and his head snapped to stare at the other man who was conspicuously looking the other way.

Quirrel hummed softly as he glanced back to Harry, perking a brow as he saw the boy's cheeks flush a beet red. He made a somewhat lame gesture. "Well, surprise?"

Harry offered the man a baleful glance before taking the time to finally _look_ around. Ignoring the walking facsimile of irritation that was his pseudo-mentor for a moment, he let his eyes drink in the details of the halls they were walking through.

His eyes lit up the moment he did, and a warm smile overtook his sour disposition. _It never gets old..._

Magic was _everywhere_. It infested the very cracked, old stone they walked upon. It was laced into the stained glass windows, which depicted fantastical creatures of mythology that moved with uncanny life. The suits of armour they passed were scratched and scarred, bearing rusted weaponry that had edges dulled and chipped from _usage_. One of the eternal knights even turned its helmeted head to regard him as he passed by.

It was good to be back at Hogwarts.

Quirrel suddenly held out a hand, and they both came to a stop at a four-way junction in order to allow a _lion_ made entirely from enchanted stone to pass by. Harry couldn't help but squint in confusion as it did so.

_Is Bobby wearing a top-hat and reading glasses?_

"Mornin' lads," the construct suddenly greeted in a surprisingly thick cockney accent, dipping its hat courteously towards them both. It then did a double take, turning back to Harry in surprise. "Oi! Slithery-Harold, mate, good to see ya!"

_Yes… yes he is. He also has a cigarette in his mouth…_

Quirrel sniffed in amusement, "Quite the laudy moniker you have been dubbed, Harry."

"You too, Bob," Harry replied, ignoring Quirrel as he reached out and straightened the lion's lopsided hat. "Now whose stuff did you go and nick this time?"

Bobby shot him a toothy grin, saluting with his tail. "Ask none tell none, ya cheeky bugger!"

Harry couldn't help but snort as the magical construct shot him a wink and moved on, likely in an effort avoid further questioning.

_Yeah, it's good to be back alright…_

This was the most famous wizarding school in the world. Legends were made here, birthed from these hallowed halls. And asides from Bobbinson the Gryffindor lion and Quirrel, it was also currently the most _empty_ school in the world. It was in a way both eerie, and oddly exciting.

_A silent Hogwarts? Usually a sight reserved for the ghosts and the Headmaster..._

He was two weeks early, and not a student was in sight.

"Does it compare to Alexandria at all?"

The question broke Harry from his wondering.

Instead of answering immediately, Harry's gaze instead trailed the rear of the strutting lion. Its tail was flicking around as it whistled cheerfully through stony whiskers. Looking back at Quirrel, he made a vague noise. "Considering I haven't been skinned alive by a goblin, or choked to death on sand yet-"

"Bollocks..."

A muffled curse interrupted him as the stone construct suddenly froze, staring at the half-burnt cigarette that had fallen out of its mouth and onto the floor.

Quirrel chuckled as he nodded, watching as the lion turned back to them with a sheepish expression on its face. "Quite so."

"Say fellas, could one of ya's give us a paw? I've dropped me fag."

* * *

** Later… **

"-Quirinus, fourteen days before your first class and a child under your care has _already_ paid a visit to our dear mediwitch!"

The corner of Harry's lip twitched animalistically for but a split second. _'Dear' mediwitch my royal, pasty white arse-_

"A feat one should not add to their resume, I would assume."

Harry stifled the laugh that threatened to spill from his mouth. The man was either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid.

He found himself thinking the latter as Minerva McGonagall's expression narrowed dangerously. Her thin, cat-like eyes glared at Quirrel predatorily as she put down her quill.

What followed was perhaps the most terrifying experience Harry had ever witnessed. From facing down vampires, to falling hundreds of feet into an abyss and being devoured by parasites… _nothing_ compared to the verbal tongue-lashing Harry watched Quirrel receive.

It was almost beautiful in a way, an art form perfected to a degree unmatched. Quirrel would likely agree if the gradual shrinking of his form meant anything.

For ten minutes, Harry watched in awe.

...before it abjectly turned into horror as her extended finger suddenly rounded in his direction.

"-and _you_."

Paling slightly, Harry cleared his clammy throat. "Just so you know Professor, I am fully willing to testify against Quirrel in exchange for amnesty-"

McGonagall sighed in exasperation. "Come _here,_ Mister Potter _._ "

Shooting up from the chair he had been ordered into as the two teachers… 'conversed', Harry shuffled past Quirrel, who looked like a puppy after being scolded for stealing a treat.

He restrained the urge to kick the man in the shin as he came to a stop before McGonagall's desk. The fool just _had_ to stir the woman up didn't he? _Now she's going to eat me alive just out of principle._

The deputy Headmistress retook her seat as he approached, sighing as the veritable anger left her face. Thankfully, her awfully stern features lightened into something far more easy on the eyes as the lines in her face washed away.

Quirrel coughed awkwardly, drawing both of their attention. "Good show, I say." As McGonnagall's eyes narrowed once more, he started jumpily, making for the door. "I believe something calls to my attention outside."

McGonagall's lips thinned in distaste. "Of course, Professor."

She watched him leave with awfully guarded eyes, and Harry _swore_ the woman's pupils had narrowed into slits for but a split second. "Mister Potter," she greeted curtly, turning back to him. "As unheralded and unpalatable that may have been, welcome back to Hogwarts."

Harry put on an easy smile for her, only half-relaxing in his seat. He wasn't about to slip up and eat a scolding that could likely chide Merlin himself back into his chair. Not _yet_ , at least. "Thanks." Harry glanced back towards the door. "Between you and me... good show, Professor."

The witch's lip twitched in the ghost of a smirk, before she sniffed again and sat back, relieving Harry from the death stare he had been trapped in. "I could scarcely believe my eyes when Professor Quirrel suddenly appeared at the castle gates holding what, for all intents and purposes, looked to be a corpse." She shook her head slowly. "You certainly take after your father when it comes to giving me heart palpitations, Mister Potter."

Harry hid his amusement by glancing away, observing the room around him. The decor hadn't changed at all since the previous year.

Neat, prim, proper and with a hint of personality that she did well in hiding. Unfortunately for her, Alessandra had a thing for being able to 'read a room'.

Eyeing some of the titles on the tomes and books that lined her shelves, Harry coughed lightly. "Would you believe me if I said it wasn't my fault?"

Mcgonagall hummed softly, her eyes curious. "Willingly entering dangerous ruins whilst carrying such inexperience rather abrogates most excuses, Mister Potter." Her words were chiding, however her tone was fishing for information.

Quirrel had neglected to tell her just _what_ and _where_ these ruins were.

 _No shit, Potter._ He shook his head mentally. The goblins would have Quirrel drawn and quartered for such a breach of confidential information. With that in mind, Harry merely offered a sheepish look. "I guess arguing against that would make me look a little silly…"

"Considering that it landed you inside a mediwitch's cot?" She shook her head at him. "I would believe so." Seeing him glance away uneasily, she sniffed contentedly and moved on. "Nevertheless, we have more pressing matters to discuss."

Harry returned to her, curiosity piqued. Had he missed something? What business would she have with him?

As if she had read his mind, she analysed him slowly from head to toe. "Rarely do I find myself questioning what to do with a student, especially one that has appeared two entire _weeks_ early."

Harry blinked.

_Oh… right._

"-yet, here we are."

Meeting the witch's piercing stare, Harry opted not to respond, instead allowing her to steep in her thoughts. Truth be told, he was curious as to what happened now.

Had James been notified of the… _incident_? Would he go back to the manor?

Almost immediately, he dismissed the thought. James was hopped up on a battle-high, being understably put on edge by supernatural enemies at his _literal_ doorstep. If he had learned of his second brush with death under Quirrel's supervision, Harry would have surely known about it.

Truthfully, he had half-expected to awake surrounded by a dozen ICW battlemages in an undisclosed facility in the arse-ended neck of nowhere.

_Quirrel must have managed to shove it under the rug for n-_

"Your acting guardian has taken it upon himself to notify your father of your incident."

Harry fought down his urge to snort. _'Atta boy, Sparrowspell._

McGonnagall frowned, watching him rather intently. "Although it seems you are _still_ to remain as his ward. Your father must be rather... 'busy' to ignore such a dire circumstance."

"Something like that," Harry offered neutrally, running his thumb over one of the many scars across his arms subconsciously. Her eyes were drawn to the movement like clockwork, her brows furrowing as she took in the litany of cuts and gouges that ran across his arms.

He stopped immediately, steepling his hands together under the table instead, however it was a little too late. Her eyes were darting across his form now, spying the _abundant_ amount of scar tissue that peeked out from the bland, magically resized and ill-fitting clothes he had been given by Pomfrey to wear.

The alarm in her eyes was as plain as day, and Harry winced internally. _Balls, maybe Alessandra was right… I need to get these sorted out._

"So am I to remain here with Quirrel, Professor?"

" _Professor_ Quirrel, Mister Potter..." She chided half-heartedly, seemingly out of habit. Meeting his eyes once more, she cleared her throat uneasily before straightening in her chair. "I… beg your pardon, could you please repeat that?"

Smiling disarmingly at her, Harry complied. _Mental note, ask Quirrel for dittany oil._ "I asked if I was to remain at Hogwarts now. I was supposed to study under Quirrel until the school year started…" He trailed off, letting the sentence hang.

Tutting mostly to herself, the deputy Headmistress frowned as she scanned over the leafs of parchment over her large desk. Pulling the spectacles hanging by her neck onto her nose, she finally plucked one out and gave it a scan, pursing her lips as she did so.

Harry got the feeling that she had likely read it before, considering she spent half the time glancing at _him_ instead of actually reading the damned thing. Eventually, she placed it down, and Harry caught a glimpse of a seal stamped in the bottom corner.

The letters ' _APWBD_ ' were pressed into the shimmering purple wax.

McGonagall made a curt gesture towards the parchment. "It appears that, due to your _unique_ circumstance, the Headmaster has made the spontaneous decision to 'approve' your early arrival." She scrunched up her nose in discontent. "The decision is not one I condone. Students should abide by the rules and arrive on time." She gave him a stern glance, before huffing softly. "Nevertheless, the Headmaster has spoken."

Harry leaned back in his seat, somewhat surprised. He didn't _actually_ think he would be given permission to stay. "The Headmaster isn't here, is he?" _Why else would I be speaking with McGonagall instead of Dumbledore?_

The deputy Headmistress shook her head, seemingly mildly annoyed by the fact. "He is otherwise _occupied_ , I believe." She sighed again, before abruptly taking up her quill once more. "I do believe that is all, Mister Potter." She nodded to the door. "The rules in place for you are the same as if you were staying over Christmas." She gave him another one of _those_ looks that he was seeming to accrue rather quickly. "Do follow them, Mister Potter."

A moment of silence passed as McGonnagal returned to her papers, before eventually looking up with a perked brow. Harry was still seated before her, frowning off into empty space. "You do remember the way to the Slytherin common rooms, I presume?"

Harry finally stood, offering another fabricated smile as his mind whirred by a mile a minute. "Of course, Professor."

* * *

He stepped through the sunlight splashed halls of Hogwarts, slowly ambling his way to the dungeons. After all, there was no rush. With no classes, no teachers, and no students, Hogwarts was as calm as could be.

It was beautiful in an oddly melancholy way. It felt as though the castle was showing Harry its tender side, a seldom seen face that it had long hid. The empty suits of armour walked around, freed from their endless watch now that there were none to watch over. Pixies and fairies fluttered overhead, mischievously sneaking their way in from the Forbidden forest now that Filch wasn't here to drive them away.

Harry came to a pause at the top of some stairs, feeling almost serene as a songbird came to a gentle landing on his shoulder. "You're an awfully gorgeous hunk of junk sometimes," he confessed to the stone walls around him.

Truly, he wasn't expecting a voice to answer him.

"Are you asking me, the castle, or the bird?"

Flinching at the sudden noise and accidentally dislodging the bird from its perch on his shoulder, Harry turned to find a bespeckled woman eyeing him curiously. Her arms were gingerly wrapped around a bunch of scrolls.

"Miss Fairfax?" Harry rubbed at his chest, soothing his racing heart. "Bloody hell that's at least a year you've shaved off my lifespan."

The young charms teacher smiled, though whether it was in apology or amusement, he couldn't tell. "Heh, apologies, apologies." She then gave him an odd look, as if noticing something.

He bore her scrutiny with some discomfort. McGonagall had thankfully resized his clothing _properly_ for him before he left, but the changes inflicted on him over the summer were rather hard to hide without likening his attire to that of a mummy.

Finally, Fairfax coughed into her shoulder and looked away, realising that she was staring. "School is supposed to start in two weeks, you know?"

Harry cocked a brow, "I guess that's why you're wearing jeans and a turtleneck then, Professor? Didn't you know it's a scandal for a teacher to not be wearing dramatically billowing robes at all times?"

He received a half-hearted glare in response. "Careful Harry, you're in my class again this year remember?" she chided. "And how many times do I have to tell you that Flitwick is the professor, not me?"

Harry snorted, "Apologies, apologies," he mimicked. The charms teacher's reply was cut off as one of the scrolls slipped out from her grasp. As Harry picked it up for her, he held out his arms. "Are we going to the dungeons, or did you manage to 'weasel' your way into a nicer office yet?"

Fairfax let out a damned sigh as she callously offloaded the scrolls into his hands, "I still cannot believe that you were _eavesdropping_ on me," she huffed. "And to the dungeons, please."

"If I recall correctly," Harry began, shuffling the obscene amount of paper in his grip into a better position. " _You_ were the one that asked me to stay behind after class… what is all this stuff anyway?"

Fairfax tutted, a quaint smile on her face. "Oh never you mind that," she said innocently. "Why are you here so early, might I ask?"

Harry rolled his eyes. _Very subtle change of subject…_ "I came with Quirrel."

She gave him a curious glance. "The new Defence professor?" she asked, obviously confused.

Harry shrugged as they turned into the dungeons, inwardly sighing as the atmosphere turned frigid and gloomy. Fog began to creep in from the cracks in the dark walls, outlining ghostly shapes in the distance that faded as they came closer. It would have been quite the spooky experience… if he hadn't already discovered the existence of the runes carved into the entranceway that were responsible. _We're not doing much to subvert the Slytherin stigma, are we?_

"He's a friend of my father's," Harry replied, coming back to the conversation at hand.

She gave him another quizzical look, but said nothing further. They walked for a bit longer, conversing about the future classes to be had. It was somewhat odd, he didn't realise how much of a difference attire made when it came to one's presence. Miss Fairfax seemed less like a charms teacher of Hogwarts under Professor Flitwick, and more like… just some young woman.

"Well, hopefully he has a pleasant one year in that post."

Harry looked at her, "I thought the jinxed DADA position was just a rumour?"

Fairfax chuckled softly, "A rumour that's been spot on for over a decade?" At Harry's surprised look, she shrugged. "The 'rumour' was still running strong during my own stint at Hogwarts, you know?"

"The curse must be positively ancient then…" Harry murmured, smirking.

Fairfax gave him an exasperated glare, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside her office, and Fairfax ushered him inside. He deposited the scrolls onto her desk, making to leave when she suddenly stopped him with a hand.

"Whilst you're here…" she smiled sweetly at him. "I might as well go over your summer assignments, hmm?"

Harry sighed. _Yeah I deserve that one…_

"Hypothetically speaking, what if I told you a vampire ate my homework?"

Fairfax took a seat on the edge of her desk, crossing her legs. "I'd tell you that blaming a werewolf would have been far more believable."

* * *

Stepping through the dewy mist that layered the stone floor, Harry approached the Slytherin common rooms. The passage had changed subtly from the straight pathways they once were, with the ceiling becoming round and the atmosphere changing into something… refined. The grubby grey stone gave way to polished granite, and the walls suddenly came alive with stone carvings that moved and shifted in the torchlight.

" _To hallowed grounds, scarred and changed, do you come… Basileus."_

Harry came to a stop before the brackish pool of water that was the entrance to the common room. He watched in surprise as the water burbled and broiled, and surfacing from it a serpent of stone emerged with glistening emeralds for eyes.

There was no riddle, nor password to enter the Slytherin dorms. Unlike other houses, House Slytherin preferred cold logic. A guardian that only allows in those it recognises, for instance.

Although, as far as Harry knew… it didn't awake for no reason, and _never_ did it address a student.

This was the second time he had been called… whatever that word was. _Both times by a snake, no less._

"What does that mean?" he asked, brows furrowing.

The guardian regarded him for a long moment, utterly still and silent. Finally, it turned and slunk back into the water. Somewhat annoyed by the lack of an answer, Harry sighed and stepped into the water, easily making his way down the stone staircase in the pool.

He did not float, nor did he even feel wet. All he felt was an odd scouring effect as the pool stripped him of treacherous magics. It was a defence system not unlike the Thief's Downfall in Gringotts. Breathing in the enchanted water as if it were air, Harry stepped through the small passage, eyeing the now inert form of the guardian that was embedded flush into the floor beneath him.

Climbing the staircase on the other side, he emerged completely dry to a simply incredible sight.

Despite the strange encounter he just had, Harry couldn't stop the small smile that broke out on his face as teal rays of sunlight scattered across his form.

A huge open space lay before him, chiselled from polished basalt. Black marble hearths lined the sides of the hall, alight with gently crackling fires that cast orange glows that clashed with the teal sunlight. It was an elegant, although comfortable space.

Although the centerpiece of it all had to be-

A shadow passed over the hall, smothering the morning sun. Harry grinned, walking down the common room towards the back.

Which was completely _open_.

As if a gargantuan creature had taken a bite out of the back of the hall itself, the wall had been reduced to ruins that gave way to the Black Lake situated above. A thin bubble-like shield of protective magic held back the tonnes of water that would have flooded the room otherwise.

It created a sight for the ages. A glimpse into the foreboding, magical mysteries of the Black Lake. And currently hovering over the bubble, a huge pair of beady eyes looked down at Harry curiously.

Harry raised a hand and waved, laughing as the Giant Squid raised a tentacle of its own and waved back before swimming off. The speckled sunlight that had filtered through the water returned to light up the common room once again, no longer being blocked.

Coming to a stop directly behind the bubble that separated him from the lake, Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the fish swim by.

* * *

** Several days later… **

He watched as the second hand of a pocket watch ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace. One hand held the object tightly, if not a little _too_ tightly, and the other was holding what looked to be a handful of seeds over a simmering cauldron.

The burbling, ooze-like mixture within was roiling and belching every so often. It was like a living slop of green slime that was both solid and liquid at the same time.

Delilah's voice echoed into his mind. _Some would say non-Newtonian._

"-I do hope you're paying attention to what you're doing."

The dry remark from Quirrel had Harry's eyes widening as he suddenly snapped back to the present, and he watched as the second hand ticked exactly onto the thirty second mark. Yelping in alarm, he quickly tossed the ingredients in his offhand into the pot.

Almost immediately, the globby green clump of slime began to billow a vile smelling smoke, expelling it much like a geyser does water. Harry felt his eyes beginning to water slightly as he batted the fumes away.

Quirrel, who was sitting at his desk pouring over various reports and findings from Alexandria, glanced up at the commotion, a brow perking up to touch his turban as he flicked his wand and blew the toxic fumes away. "Cut it somewhat close, no?"

Harry murmured incoherently as he quickly leaned forwards, peering into the pot expectantly. The mixture within had reduced by at least two-thirds, and simmering softly at the bottom was a remarkably clear liquid that burbled not unlike hot oil.

A grin broke out on Harry's features as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His shirt that he had ripped half open to cool off was now soaked with sweat and his trousers were scuffed with all sorts of potions ingredients, but it was well worth it.

He had just brewed a N.E.W.T level salve entirely by himself!

Quirrel coughed lightly as he puffed on his pipe, and Harry watched as the wooden spoon by the cauldron levitated itself up and began to stir the mixture before it burned.

His face fell slightly.

Well… perhaps not _entirely_ by himself.

Killing the heat on the burner, Harry slumped back into his chair, chest rising and falling heavily as he finally took a moment to relax. When Quirrel had asked him if he wanted to help in brewing dittany oil, he hadn't expected to be launched into a crash, high-level brewing course that spanned over three whole _hours_ of constant work.

Potions was a gruellingly _hot_ , temperamental, and messy school of magic... but _damn_ was it satisfying.

His eyes fell upon the two other cauldrons filled with batches he had royally botched, and his satisfaction soured.

…

 _Satisfying when you succeed_ , he amended.

"Congratulations," Quirrel muttered distractedly. "I only had to hold your hand the entire time."

Harry pursed his lips as he mulled over whether it was worth flipping Quirrel the bird or not, however his decision was made for him as the fireplace at the back of the DADA office suddenly came alight with green flames.

"Sparrowspell!"

The harsh, gravelly thrum had Harry's brows rising in surprise, and he peered around Quirrel's high-backed chair to see the familiar, albeit _heavily_ damaged helmet of Gavelgrin.

Made of magical green fire, of course.

"Sparrowspell, you haughty toilet rag! Answer Gavelgrin immediately!" Despite the goblin's words, the creature's voice was slightly distressed.

Quirrel turned in his chair, brows furrowed as he peered at the blood splattered across the front of Gavelgrin's helmet.

"Let me guess-" Quirrel started.

"-NO!"

Quirrel's brow twitched as he shook his head. "Are you-"

"-YES!"

Fighting off an oncoming migraine, the cursebreaker let out a sigh as he let the manilla folder in his hand drop to the desk with a thud. "Does it have to be right at this mome-"

"YES!" There was a pause. "Bring your magic stick!" Another pause, longer than the last. "Is that annoying homunculus creature alive?"

Quirrel cocked a brow, "Excuse me?"

There was a pause, as Harry too tilted his head in question.

"That little pink monster you brought along with you, the one that nearly got me killed."

"You mean _Harry_?"

"...If that's what you call it."

Harry made to reply before Quirrel coughed. "Yes, he's alive-"

"-Bring him too."

"He's busy."

Halfway through turning around to leave, Gavelgrin paused, before grumbling and disappearing from the fireplace.

Muttering lowly to himself about 'damned goblins' Quirrel turned to see a contemplative Harry eyeing him from beside his cauldron of freshly brewed dittany oil. He perked a brow in an unspoken question.

Harry pursed his lips. "Am I grounded or something now?"

Snorting softly, Quirrel shook his head. "I am not unwilling to take you back there."

Harry's eyes widened, "Really?"

"I do quite despise coddling." He then offered the boy a frown. "However, that freakshow of a goblin is bloodied and dare I say, worried." Shaking his head, Quirrel scooped all the files on his desk into a drawer and locked it shut with a tap of his wand. "If the situation is so dire, then bringing you would be quite the fool's folly."

Harry chewed on his lip, the image of Gavelgrin's bloodied front on the forefront of his mind. Whatever was capable of wounding that creature, was _more_ than likely capable of ending his existence on a whim. Yet still… the _curiosity_ plaguing him was positively maddening.

"I'll send word if I will be back, if not… then do try _not_ to get caught."

The request was punctuated by a small 'click', and Harry glanced up to find Quirrel already stepping through a roaring cascade of emerald flames. On the desk, lay the familiar, battered visage of Quirrel's training wand.

He stared for a moment, before frowning at the fireplace. "Should I be impressed that he figured out my plans, or worried that he knows me so well already?"

The question went unanswered, as expected.

Coughing sheepishly, Harry scooted forwards and reached out to pluck the little instrument from the desk, before he abruptly froze.

Stepping around the desk, his eyes found themselves transfixed by a flash of steel that lay half-obscured by the papers and letters Quirrel had brushed aside in his haste.

"You missed something…" He murmured out loud, glancing to the locked drawer that was filled with the more… _confidential_ of Alexandria's findings.

Pulling a few scrolls out of the way and lifting a leaf of parchment, a shallow breath escaped Harry as he lay his eyes upon the broken spearhead. _Quirrel must have found it..._

He shook his head slowly. "Bloody hell, it blew you up once already, Potter."

_But lightning never strikes twice… right?_

Chewing hard on his lip, Harry placed his hands on either edge of the desk and stared at the innocuous thing.

It was gorgeous, made of some darker wood variety, and layered through with a strange, almost bioluminescent 'resin'... for lack of a better term. The spearhead itself was _pristine_. The steel had been folded and pattern welded in a way that made it look as if dark serpents ran down the length of the blade.

His fingers drummed on the desk.

"Quirrel would kill me."

He paused.

 _-and James… and Delilah, and Alessandra, and_ _ **Pomfrey**_.

The last name made him shudder. Dare he risk paying her a visit, half blown to smithereens at this late of an hour?

He shook his head, tapping the spearhead in his hand on the table in frustration-

…

Blinking owlishly, Harry glanced down to find the broken weapon firmly in his grasp. He froze for a second... before abruptly yelping in alarm and tossing it back onto the desk.

It clattered to a rolling stop against some scrolls.

His hand snatched up Quirrel's spare wand and snapped a flourish in the air. " _Protego!"_

A cascade of violent energy burst out from the wand's tip, before taking shape as an ovoid shield of transparent white.

A moment passed with Harry watching intently, his eyes locked onto the innocuous object that lay before him. He was waiting for it, for the explosion, for fate to strike him across the chin once more…

…

Nothing happened.

Dropping the spell, Harry stubbornly folded his arms and waited, learning from his past mistakes.

Yet once again, nothing happened.

A shallow breath escaped him as he slowly relaxed. Absently noting just how little he was strained from the notoriously taxing defense spell. It seemed that Quirrel's training methods had merit.

Approaching the desk, he set the wand down. Whatever volatile magic within the artefact had likely expired by now. He snorted softly as he shook his head at his own superstition. _Why else would Quirrel just leave the thing here?_ He mused softly. The man wasn't a fool, the broken spear was obviously completely inert-

Harry paused, his fingers having just wrapped around the weapon. His ears pricked as his head cocked to the side.

He could hear something… like the gentle fluttering of a butterfly's wings on an autumn breeze. It was coming from outside Quirrel's office, within the classroom itself.

Broken spear in hand, Harry slowly stepped towards the door. Had the windows been left open?

As the door fell open to a gentle push, Harry found that it was no insect that had invaded the halls of Hogwarts, but a raven.

Made entirely from _paper._

It's wings of parchment fluttered in the still air of the classroom, its form and movements offering the paradoxically conflicting notions of both grace and stiffness.

A brow perked as Harry stepped further out of the office, leaning against the bannister of the stairway that lorded over the classroom. It was strangely beautiful. Delilah would have found it a rather novice enchantment of course… though to him, it was almost captivating.

His eyes tracked it as it flew lazy circles and pirouettes above the student desks.

 _Who made it?_ He wondered curiously.

His gaze intensified a little as it fluttered further away. He could _almost_ hear it... the steady beat of its wings. The gentle thumping of its heart.

It suddenly slipped out of the classroom, and a startled cry lurched from Harry's throat as he vaulted over the bannister after it. Landing more or less clumsily, his pace quickened as he jogged up to the door and peered out.

Relief flooded him in waves as caught sight of the little paper creation, now gliding easily down the hallway. It twirled gently, almost as if egging him to follow.

And Harry followed, his eyes glued to the airborne construction with an almost obsessed fervour. His feet tracked through the halls of Hogwarts as he dawdled after the paper raven, his pace subconsciously quickening.

Only barely could he make out his surroundings as they went, a burnished bronze vase here, a painting of a sallow-faced wizard there… but it was all just background fodder. His gaze was only for the raven.

Minutes… or _hours_ , it was impossible to tell for how long he had been trailing the enchanted creation before he chased it into another room.

Finally it came to a stop as he stepped into the middle of the chamber, and Harry watched as the creature landed softly atop his open palm.

He blinked.

The powerful pulls of curiosity and intrigue were gone. The urge to chase the construct, to see what secrets it held…

It was all gone.

Instead, the burn in his legs made itself known as his overtaxed muscles groaned in protest. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his chest, and Harry pulled at it to find the article _soaked_ through with sweat. His already laboured breaths quickened as he whipped around, eyes wide in shock.

Where was he? How far had he come? What time was it?

The room was dark, the torches long since put out. It was empty save for what looked to be a rather large mirror at the far end.

He could hear nothing but silence…

Harry swallowed thickly. _Fuck…_

He reached for his wand, and in doing so dropped what had been resting on his still open palm. Baffled, Harry stooped over to pick up the small scrap of parchment that had fallen to the floor. The texture was odd, and the paper itself was awfully yellowed.

Was… was this the raven? Had this all been some sort of elaborate ruse?

He turned it over, and scrawled across the surface in an awfully elegant hand a single sentence lay.

' _Abandon thy heart's will, for only the forlorn may pass. A step forwards unto madness, and through the lens of chaos shall the_ _ **true**_ _Hogwarts be_ _revealed.'_

Harry found his brow rising in confusion, despite the heinous situation he found himself in. "What the…"

Head cocked, Harry glanced around with a frown. It wasn't exactly the death threat or promise of eternal torment he had been expecting…

The baffling note calmed his racing heart somewhat. He couldn't sense nor see any imminent danger. There was nothing in the room after all, nothing asides-

His eyes turned to the mirror.

He raised his wand cautiously, only to groan as the wickedly sharp tip of an ancient spear came into his field of view. "Harry Potter, you goddamned buffoon." He turned the object around in his hand, eyeing it in exasperation. _At least it's still sharp._

Not quite sure how best to hold a _broken_ spear, he reversed it as if it were a knife. At best, he could at least stab something before he died. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Harry crept towards the mirror. His eyes were alight with suspicion, peering into every corner a multitude of times.

Vampires, barbarian goblins, thousand-foot falls, blood sucking parasites and undead snakes had rather wizened him to the danger that often liked to befall him.

Speaking of which… _what happened to the snake?_

A shiver ran up his spine, likely from the cold and the fact that his shirt was waterlogged.

Quirrel hadn't commented on it, which probably meant that the creature had fled or hidden away before he arrived.

_Or maybe it got blown up._

He paused, recalling the sudden explosion of magic after he had made perhaps _the_ most ridiculous decision possible. Bloodloss and delirium be damned.

_Yeah… it probably got blown up._

He felt somewhat saddened by the notion. The creature had saved his life after all… it had also revealed something rather scandalous about himself as well.

Shaking _that_ can of worms out of his head, he snapped to attention as his feet came to a stop before the mirror.

He chewed on his lip idly, watching his reflection do the same. Was he supposed to do something? He frowned, or was what lay before him exactly what it appeared to be for once in his bloody life-

The mirror's surface began to cloud up.

His eye twitched.

_Figures._

Taking a few careful steps backwards, Harry glanced quickly behind him to make sure his exit was still clear. When he turned back, his eyes widened in alarm.

He was no longer staring at his reflection…

In fact, it was not a reflection at all.

He was staring at a very familiar image of golden sands and marble architecture. He was staring at Alexandria, except it was far from ruined.

Sand did not dare to touch the carved walls of Alexander's palace, and the pathway leading to the main doors glittered with embedded gemstones. Legions of shining soldiers stood on either side, stretching as far as the eye could see. All wore the Vergina sun, all flying the standard of Macedonia.

A gravelling thrum began to sound, and Harry watched in awe as the great doors to the palace swung open. A bright light like the burning sun itself shone from within, and silhouetted, a figure emerged.

Harry recognised the build, the golden helm of the Nemean lion, the longspear in his hands. It was the figure from his dream...

He was injured.

Fresh red blood was spattered across his front, his helm was scorched from spellfire, and yet… his flaming green eyes roared in _victory_.

His bloodied left hand clutched at something…

Harry stepped closer, desperate to see what it was when the image suddenly flickered. Recoiling in alarm, he winced as a hissing of static began to fill the chamber as the scene he was looking at was suddenly replaced.

In a stark change, he found himself looking into a library. The shelves stretched endlessly into a roof that disappeared overhead, and the books were titled strangely. Names were etched into the covers, as well as years, and even concepts such as 'love' and 'time'.

A man sat at a table in the middle of the gargantuan library, books splayed at his feet and a bone white wand in hand as he slowly perused the contents of the tome he was reading. The title read simply ' _Magic_ '.

The mirror flashed once again, and Harry felt a migraine split at his head as he watched the scene begin to flicker and change to yet another, completely different image. However, before it even began it was overcome by the first scene, and then the second…

The crackling sound of static grew louder as the mirror spasmed. A mind-numbing array of flickering pictures and sounds filled Harry's skull, pounding at his brain as the three different scenes seemingly warred for prominence.

Bile filled his throat, and Harry tore himself away from the mirror as he fought the urge to empty his stomach on the ground. Falling limply to his knees, his hand scrabbled at the floor as he braced himself against the world that was demurely spinning around him.

It took Harry a moment to climb to his feet, head still swimming as if he had decided to headbutt a troll. Breathing heavily, Harry turned back to the mirror, only just giving it a look out from the corner of his eye lest it assault his mind once again.

The surface was clear. No clouded visions or spasming images flickered in the reflection.

Groaning as the pounding in his skull refused to ebb, Harry stumbled his way towards the door. There was a tonic or two in the infirmary with his name on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Hogwarts has employed more staff in this story. Professors handle the First, Fifth, and Seventh years. The reasoning implied is that the First year is a student's first taste of Hogwarts and the subject, whilst the other two remain the most important academic years due to O. and N.E. . Instructors have been hired to fill in the remaining classes.


	7. Chapter 6

** Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England, Great Britain **

"You sure about this, Malfoy?"

Idly rolling the amber liquid within the glass, Lucius Malfoy snapped a blue-eyed stare onto the thin, ragged looking wizard sitting in the armchair opposite him.

"Your wife said-"

"Are you dealing with my wife, or me, Mr. Glover?" Lucius asked quietly, crossing his legs.

Glover rolled his jaw, mulling over the question. "I'm dealing with whoever has the _money_." Lucius gave him a bland, obvious look, and Glover sighed. "Yeah, yeah alright. Look, it's just your wife gave me the impression that the mining operation in Egypt was the Dark Lord's bidding."

Lord Malfoy smiled faintly, playing with the weathered edge of an old, battered looking diary. "Even if that _were_ remotely true, the Dark Lord is no more."

Glover gave him an intrigued look. "And here I thought you Death Eaters couldn't let go of the past." Lucius didn't offer a reply to that, and so with a grunt, Glover stood. "So be it then. I'll see the excavations closed, but the contract termination is gonna run you something fierce." The man made to leave, before pausing and turning back. "You want the workers offed?"

"Obviously," Lucius drawled dismissively, no longer looking at him.

"Right, right."

The door to the room closed, and Lucius sighed as he stood and walked closer to the fireplace. The flames brightened as he approached, casting shadows across the jaw of the dragon skull mounted above. "Do be on your way," he said to the empty air. "Wait until he's finished with my business, and then make it look like an accident, hmm?"

The air beside the fireplace shifted as a disillusionment spell faded, revealing a slim individual in professionally tailored clothes. A porcelain half-mask, bearing the crest of a silver swan, covered the mercenary's features. He bowed elegantly, before moving off to follow in Glover's tracks.

Lucius watched him leave, and when the door clicked shut, he turned back to the book in his hand. "To think that a dragon had allowed itself to be tamed by a _snake_." He sneered, looking up at the severed head of Giveon, the Roaming Blizzard.

His ancestors would be far from pleased…

The diary seemed to shudder in his grasp, as if sensing his train of thought. The fire dimmed, the darkness in the corners of the room growing closer as cold whispers crawled up his arm, almost as if spiders had come skittering out from in between the pages.

_Open it._

Lucius inhaled slowly, staring at the faded lettering on the spine. His thumb caressed the leather, aching to flip it over.

' _Crack!'_

Lucius flinched, his hand pulling away from the book as he looked up.

Giveon's maw had fallen open.

Blinking, as if there had been smoke in his eyes, he tossed the diary to the side with shaking hands.

"D-dobby," he called, out of breath.

There was a soft snap, and a rather pathetic looking elf shuffled forward.

"Masters Malfoyses?"

"Take that and destroy it, if you're not capable, then dispose of it in a place unfound." He heard the elf scoop up the diary from the floor behind him. A surge of panic struck him, "With haste, you useless pest!"

Another snap, and the air of the room shifted. He was alone once more.

The flames roared, and the shadows seemed to make Giveon's maw come alive. Lucius just stared into its empty sockets, enraptured.

* * *

Reclining in his chair, Draco idly stroked his chin with the feathered end of his quill, face pulled into a frown. He was scanning over haphazardly sketched quidditch formations with icy eyes, shaking his head and muttering insults under his breath. "Urquhart, you bumbling idiot…" he sighed, reaching for his tea. "Vaisey's no good on the defence, he needs to be closer to the bludger release if you want him to perform," the irritated muttering was drowned into the rim of the cup.

Pulling back in distaste from the unpleasantly cold beverage, Draco glanced out of the window, surprised to find that the stars were out. How much time had he spent sitting here fixing Urquhart's daft ideas?

 _Too much,_ he decided, tossing his quill onto the desk. He eyed his cold tea, annoyed. "Dobby."

The elf appeared with a crack, and Draco waved towards the cup. "It's gone cold," he informed tiredly.

"D-dobby will fetch a replacement at once young master!"

The elf shuffled forward, and Draco grunted dismissively. "No, just get rid of it." He then paused, seeing the black diary tucked into the crook of Dobby's arm. "What's that?"

Dobby froze, before pulling the book free. "I-he-Masters Malfoy-"

"Let me see," he ordered, extending a hand. He was caught off-guard by the elf's hesitation.

"Masters Malfoyses said… said-"

Curiosity piqued, Draco extended his hand out a little further. "I'll handle it," he assured.

Not sure what to do, Dobby reluctantly held it out, flinching as Draco plucked it from his fingers. "I-it's to be destroyed or disposed of-"

"It will be," Draco replied distractedly, flicking the thing open and frowning upon seeing the empty pages. _Invisible ink?_ He immediately scoffed at the idea, his father wasn't some ten-year old, it was likely heavily charmed or perhaps even _cursed_. "If father asks, tell him you got rid of it."

"Where?"

"I don't bloody know!" Draco snapped, shooing the creature away. "Tell him it's at the bottom of the ocean or something you boorish gremlin, now get out." The elf disappeared with a ' _crack_!', and Draco sighed. "Dobby, you forgot the tea for goodness sake."

The elf popped back in, immediately beginning to bash its head against the floor. Draco palmed his face, unequivocally _done_ with the damned creature.

_Idiots… idiots everywhere I look._

* * *

** Astronomy tower, Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain **

A frozen wind brushed by, ruffling both his hair and the letter in his hands. Harry paid it no mind, eyes transfixed on the elegant French script that he could easily recognise. His brows were furrowed. Without a doubt, he found the language far easier to speak than to read or write.

' _-communication will have to be scarce, with everything that's going on. But for emergency's sake, and also the sake of my own sanity, I've had James procure something a little special for you. Consider it a gift from your gorgeous, undead tutor._

_She's an Augur Buzzard, sixteen months old. Her designation is Skitterjack-1-4, though I would recommend renaming her to something a little less conspicuous.'_

Harry cocked a brow, looking up to regard the sleek, black-feathered bird of prey that was in turn sizing him up with incredibly vibrant golden eyes. The curious intelligence swimming beneath her gaze was decidedly clear.

The bird shuffled a little closer, tucking its wings in against the cold as it craned its neck to peer at him. Harry just snorted softly, allowing the creature its indulgence and returning to the letter.

' _No further news for now.'_

Harry hummed softly, ignoring the bird as it pulled back from the sudden noise. "Nothing you can safely say in a letter, you mean," he translated under his breath.

' _Do me a favour, and try not to be_ _ **you**_ _until things calm down? Trouble seems to be awfully fond of your scent._

_A.T'_

He couldn't help but bark out a laugh at that. "Oh if you had _any_ idea..."

Harry let out a quiet breath, scanning over the lines several times before eventually looking up and taking in the thousands of glittering gemstones in the firmament above. He let the parchment slip out of his fingers as the next breeze hissed by.

The paper floated in the current, making it about ten meters before a bolt of sizzling orange flame reduced it to ashes.

Stowing his wand, Harry glanced over as… his new 'pet' jumped onto his other arm. It's powerful talons dug into the flesh on his wrist while it's head tracked the glowing wand tip in an almost childlike wonder.

The buzzard then cocked its head at him, her eyes boring into his inquisitively. _'So, you're the new guy?'_ it almost seemed to say.

Harry sniffed, softly stroking a finger down her slender head. "Aren't you a pretty little lady?" He laughed as the bird suddenly puffed up in apparent pride, craning its head elegantly. It reminded Harry an awful lot of Alessandra. He suddenly pulled back, eyeing the bird with some suspicion.

"You're not an animagus are you?"

The avian cocked its head in question. And Harry shook his head at his own lunacy. Of course it wasn't Alessandra, she wouldn't just sit there and allow him to _pet_ her.

He paused.

Would she?

He offered the bird another suspicious glance. "Well, until I see you two in the same room… I've got my eye on you - _Tremblay_." The creature was watching him expectantly, as if waiting for something. Clearing his throat, Harry obliged. "Everest, Olympus, Vesuvius, Rainier." Immediately the bird stood straighter at attention. "Reassigning designation: Tremblay."

'Tremblay' cooed softly.

Harry grinned. _She's going to be so annoyed when she finds out._

His mischievous joy was interrupted by the flash of lights in the corner of his eye, and looking out over the Black Lake, Harry watched as dozens of little orange lights began to sail slowly across to the castle.

"Firsties…" Harry mumbled. Was it time already?

Scooching Tremblay onto his arm, he walked around the giant telescope that dominated much of the tower's space and looked out over the Forbidden Forest

Sure enough, carriages pulled by Thestrals began to roll up outside the gates and Seventh years began to disembark. _Even fewer than last year…_

Most students opted to leave after their fifth year, having completed their O. and coming of age. He watched the rest of the students arrive for some time, before eventually stretching out with a yawn and making for the stairs.

His third year of Hogwarts had officially begun.

* * *

Hogwarts was asleep no more, evident as the Hat finally finished its annual song and the Great Hall erupted into cheers. Harry was only partly paying attention, although seated with the Slytherin Quidditch team as he usually was, he blended in with his teammates. Most were quietly discussing the changes in team positions with Flint finally 'graduating', whilst the older players were going over their study plans, half listening in to the conversations.

However, Harry's mind was far from either of the subjects. Instead, he was taken by thoughts of Alessandra and her new affliction, of the vampire threat, of the Lost City and Quirrel who had been absent for nearly two whole weeks now. Harry glanced over to the staff tables, finding the Defence Against the Dark Arts post still bereft its professor.

He turned back to the woodgrain of the table, eyeing it with narrowed brows. Yet these mysteries didn't even compare to the most baffling of them all. The most infuriating, the most puzzling… _had_ to be the blasted mirror.

...In that he couldn't damn well find it again.

It's not that he had forgotten the way. He could trace his steps perfectly back to the abandoned cordon of the seventh floor. It's just that the room had simply _ceased_ to exist. In fact, the entire area had seemed to bizarrely shift. Paintings and tapestries had moved and changed positions, and the hallways and rooms all now lead to different areas. Even the bloody furniture and torch sconces had been completely swapped around.

It was as if everything had been entirely rearranged solely to spite him.

On cue, his hand reached into his pocket and brushed against the folded edge of the paper raven. It had almost become a habit, for it was the only thing concrete enough to prove that he hadn't just imagined the entire seque-

"Potter."

Snapped from his thoughts, Harry looked up to find the recently inducted Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Cilian Urquhart, eyeing him from over the rim of his glass.

"McGonnagal's making a beeline for you."

Harry glanced over to find that indeed, McGonnagal was approaching. A soft nudge to his side had him turning to one of the chasers who was giving him a smirk. She was one of the older crew that had managed to keep her position after the complete overhaul of Flint's old, and admittedly pathetic, team.

"School's like, _just_ begun you know?"

"I missed you too, Anastasia," Harry said non committedly, turning away from her cry of protest at the usage of her full name and back to McGonagall. "Professor?"

"Mister Potter," McGonnagall greeted quietly, acutely aware that the table around their vicinity had gone silent as they watched the exchange. "I was wondering if you might know anything related to Professor Quirrel's whereabouts?"

Harry only now realised that the woman looked rather annoyed. Quirrel had probably been ignoring her owls, if he had to guess. Harry shook his head, "No, sorry Professor." He didn't opt to elaborate further as he watched Urquhart and a couple others perk up at the Deputy Headmistress' query. _Probably best to keep my apprenticeship quiet, for now._

The curt reply seemed to stump McGonagall. She gave him a somewhat skeptical glance, before humming shortly in apparent resignation. She turned to Urquhart, and Harry tuned out as she pulled the boy from his seat and went to gather the other captains for an impromptu meeting.

Anastasia scooched a little closer to ask a question, though was beaten to the punch.

"What was that about, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, looking over towards Draco who had finally looked up from the small book he had been writing into for the majority of the sorting and opening ceremonies. "She was asking about Quirrel, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Draco didn't look surprised by the news, which in turn didn't surprise Harry. His father likely heard word the moment Dumbledore had secured the position. "Obviously," he drawled. "But why was she asking _you_?"

"A friend of Ja- my father's," Harry replied dismissively, tapping his fork against his glass and watching as the apple-juice was replaced by a mug of hot coffee.

Draco stared at him for a moment, before grunting and turning back to his book. His acceptance of the answer was apparently enough for everyone else as well, and Harry sighed as the rest of the table lost interest.

Harry couldn't help but inwardly cock a brow at the odd behaviour. Whilst the boy's grades were quite good, Harry hadn't taken him for such an academic. He then glanced down at Delilah's book that was resting to the side of his empty plate, and subsequently snorted at the irony.

"Ugh, another speech?"

His thoughts were interrupted as Anastasia stabbed at the table with her fork petulantly. He didn't need to look to see that Dumbledore was probably gallivanting over to the podium again. Instead, he repaid the favour by nudging the 4th year. "Hear about that study St. Mungo's submitted to the Ministry?" he remarked casually. At her quizzical glance, Harry shrugged. "Something about nightly desserts courses and overindulgence in sugar being detrimental mentally and physically to students."

The sudden look of horror in the Chaser's face was a thing of glory, only faintly marred by a creeping suspicion.

Another voice came to the rescue of Harry's ruse however, chiming in with a low, clipped tone from across the table. "Mhmm, made the second page of the Prophet. Dumbledore supposedly endorsed the thesis and did away the dessert portion entirely."

 _Not too shabby, Vaisey,_ Harry appraised inwardly.

"What the bloody hell!?-"

Whatever else Anastasia was about to say was interrupted as the doors to the Great Hall were flung open with a loud ' _bang!',_ just as Dumbledore cleared his throat to speak.

Harry's confusion lasted for perhaps a second, before he promptly turned back around, violently quelling the urge to start laughing.

Quirrel had just busted into the Hall, somehow _both_ sopping wet, and partly on fire.

More importantly, McGonnagall looked about ready to shift into her animagus form and claw the man's eyes out.

"Ah! What perfect timing."

The amplified voice of Dumbledore immediately hushed down the alarmed responses of the students closest to the door. It also had the unintended effect of halting Mcgonnagall who had taken a step towards Quirrel with narrowed eyes. "To start off our announcements - everyone, please welcome your newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrel!"

The customary round of applause was somewhat stilted by the student body's mass confusion, but Quirrel made the best of it nonetheless. Bowing, and nearly setting a nearby student on fire with the smoking end of his turban strands, Quirrel quickly scampered past a furious Transfigurations professor and beelined it for his seat.

His eyes locked with Harry's for a split second, and though the lower half of Quirrel's face was covered by his sand encrusted silk coverings, Harry could tell that he was actively smirking from the upwards crinkle of his eyes.

Looking away, thoroughly amused, Harry found Vaisey eyeing him curiously. The muscular third-year sniffed, glancing at Quirrel, and then back to Harry. "A friend of your father's, you said?"

"Mhmm."

Dumbledore resumed his speech, and Vaisey offered him one last look before shrugging and folding his arms over the table, turning his attention back to the Headmaster. Urquhart chose that moment to return, looking down at the infamous Beater in irritation.

"Sit straight will ya? You're a Slytherin, act like it-"

"Sod off, you lanky twat. I'm sure there's some haggis around here with your shit-for-brains Scottish name on it."

A series of familiar, amused looks were shared between the Quidditch team. Everyone was well acquainted with Vaisey's colourful vocabulary by now. Even Urquhart just sighed and sat back down.

It wasn't long before the feast started, and the tables were suddenly piled high with food. Not feeling particularly peckish, Harry lazily stabbed at a runaway pea on his plate, reading from Delilah's book.

After a while, Harry glanced up to find Vaisey shooting glances between him and Malfoy. He sighed inwardly.

_Three… two… on-_

"The fuck is with you two?" There it was. "I didn't realise erotica was on the curriculum."

Urquhart chose that moment to pipe in, "Uhh, that aside, you two and Draco should be moving into the Kharybdis den this year." He nodded towards Draco, who had finally put away his little black diary to eat.

Draco sniffed as he cut up his steak, holding a piece up to the light and eyeing the doneness with a critical eye. "Hm, serviceable I suppose…" he muttered, either ignoring or not hearing the two.

Harry rolled his eyes. _If he was any_ _ **less**_ _laidback, he'd fall forwards…_

Draco finally turned to Urquhart. "Yes, and you'll be moving into the Hydra's ruins, along with Beselt over there," he stated gesturing with his knife towards Anastasia, as if the conversation hadn't already passed. He then frowned at the girl. "You look like someone took a wand to your owl, Beselt."

Anastasia shot Draco a murderous glare, one that made him actually lean back slightly in alarm. "They took the dessert course away!"

Draco's blanched features contorted into a frown, "Excuse me?"

"My. Desserts. Gone."

Harry flinched as Anastasia punctuated each word with a righteous stab of her fork into the table.

Draco shook his head. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

As if on cue, the dinner feast was suddenly replaced as an assortment of spectacular desserts and sweets appeared on gilded silver platters.

Harry and Vaisey shared one look, before simultaneously scooping up all the forks within reach of the Chaser for their own safety.

"Potter you _animal!_ "

"Don't forget about Vaisey-"

"- _Dude_!"

* * *

** Later that night **

Harry breathed in the cool air of the Slytherin common room, moving towards his usual haunt by the bubble as the rest of the Slytherin house returned to their home away from home.

Excited chatter filled the room, somewhat irritating him a little bit. The lonely beauty of the common room had been all his for nearly two weeks, and now it seemed awfully loud… he then paused. _Azog's balls, I sound like an old man…_

Leaning against the arm of one of the couches, Harry watched as the First through to Second years filtered off into the 'Skink pit', the wing of underground dormitories that he himself had stayed in just the year before. He had to shake his head at that, _the cold-blooded motif in this House is just a touch overdone…_ he noted not for the first time.

" _Your brood has returned."_

Harry scoffed, _speaking of…_ subtly, he flicked his eyes to the side, looking out of the bubble and into the Black Lake. It took him a moment to find her, but eventually he picked out the two gleaming yellow eyes peeking out from a large bed of vegetation.

Harry shrugged, still observing as the Prefects began to usher groups of firsties off into the leftmost hallway. " _It would seem so_ ," he replied, the words slipping from his tongue like quicksilver. He had whispered with the barest of breaths, and even then, a few nearby students shivered as the reverberating hiss slithered into their ears.

Pursing his lips as he watched a few of his housemates glance around, unnerved, Harry turned his head towards the serpent in the weeds. Or… at least what he _assumed_ was a serpent. In what was over a week of shy conversation, the entity had never revealed itself.

_Could be a goddamned crab, for all I know… or a talking shoe-_

"Whatchya lookin' at?"

Harry flinched, snapping away from the Black Lake to find Vaisey stood barely a _foot_ away.

In turn, Vaisey blinked owlishly, looking down at the glowing wand tip thrust up under his chin. It was only his tight grip around Harry's own wrist that had stopped the other boy from shanking him in the throat. "Fuck, Potter..."

Confused, Harry eased up, staring at his wand hand as if it were some alien entity. _What the hell was that?_ He cleared his throat awkwardly, "I - sorry. You uhh, you startled me..." he trailed off somewhat lamely.

Seeing that he was no longer about to be impaled, Vaisey let go of Harry and took a very obvious step back. "That's some reaction to being spooked you got there, mate," the large Beater replied, eyeing Harry strangely.

Inwardly, Harry agreed. His fingers brushed against the broken spear, shrunk and stuck to his belt just beside where he usually kept his wand. Sheathing the still glowing wand, Harry let out a subtle breath of relief.

In some stroke of fortune, his belt had seemingly rotated ever so slightly on his waist throughout the day, and his fingers had found the handle of his wand instead.

A few inches of difference… and he might have splattered the basalt floor of the Slytherin common rooms a starkly different colour.

_What-Why did I do that?_

Thankfully, most Slytherins were busy filtering into their respective dorms or catching up with their groups. Only a few inquisitive eyes were thrown Harry's way. Rubbing at the red spot under his chin, Vaisey grunted non-committedly. "Anyway…"

"Yeah…"

"Cassius has been calling your name, let's go."

He turned, and Harry fell into step beside him. "Warrington made Prefect?"

"Him and Beselt," Vaisey affirmed.

Traversing the tables and lounges that scattered the common room, Harry found three people waiting for him. The tallest of which, who also happened to be their team Keeper, was eyeing him in some mild irritation.

"You deaf, Harry?" Cassius asked.

"I was on the other side of the room, if you didn't notice."

The popular fifth year shook his head, "There's a _lot_ of people in this room, if you didn't notice," Cassius retorted. "Not everyone wants to spend all their time staring at the famous Potter spawn."

Harry cocked a brow, and Vaisey's face lit up with a devious smirk.

"Well-"

"- _Do not_."

Vaisey slowly let go of the breath he had drawn to speak.

Cassius's brow furrowed at the Beater. "Make one more dig at my sister and I will scalp you, half-blood."

Vaisey glanced between them deliberately, comparing the inconsequential size difference despite the fact Warrington was in his fifth year.

"Primitive apes..."

"Yep… makes for good entertainment though."

Harry couldn't help but smirk at the annoyed muttering from the two girls who had been waiting for them. Eventually the pissing contest settled, and a smug looking Vaisey stepped back next to Harry. Suitably ticked off, Cassius inhaled a monumental breath and just started walking away, making a gesture for the third years to 'follow'.

He led them into the Kharybdis wing, a dilapidated hallway so _ruined_ that it had somehow become beautiful. Parts of the walls and ceilings were missing, allowing the invisible field to create even more windows from which to see into the Black Lake. Engraved all throughout the stonework, or what was left of it, the legendary mythical sea monster that was the Kharybdis writhed and churned in animated enchantments.

They stopped about halfway down, and Cassius gestured to a wrought iron double door not unlike the ones they had passed by. "These are your dorms. Greengrass and Rosier to one chamber, and you two idiots can go drown in the lake for all I care."

With that, the newly minted Prefect stalked off.

Vaisey clicked his tongue, "Well that was rude."

Harry didn't reply, instead reaching forwards and pulling the door open. Teal blue light spilled over them, abstract and random as if refracted through crystals.

"Oh my…"

Harry had to agree with Rosier as she sighed in awe.

Even Vaisey snorted as he stepped inside. "Damn, they've been holding out on us."

The dorm room was essentially a miniature version of the main common room. A freshly stoked, _blue_ burning fire crackled in it's hearth surrounded by lavish furniture. The far end of the chamber was equipped with a table and chairs for studying or eating, with a completely torn away and ravaged back wall that warranted yet another invisible forcefield. To their left and right were two chambers, each seemingly ready to spaciously accommodate two people each.

Vaisey immediately broke off into their room, throwing his trunk onto the bed furthest away from the light that was spilling in from Black Lake. Harry didn't mind, he would much rather prefer the view anyway. A smirk bloomed across his face as something caught his eye, and he watched as a pair of familiar yellow eyes slowly crept out of the dark depths.

"Merlin… what do you think _that_ is?"

Harry glanced over to Rosier and found her chewing on pouty red lips, seemingly unnerved by the sight.

"A crab," Harry replied.

* * *

** Early next morning,  
Seventh floor... **

Harry stepped fluidly to the side, wand coming up with a small banishment charm at its tip. " _Depulso."_ The whispered spell took, and the metal-clad hand that was reaching for him recoiled back as if slapped away.

He sniffed, stowing his wand as he left the detection radius of the suit of armour. It had been an awfully awkward moment back in his first year when he found out that the suits were charmed to snatch up students breaking curfew. He still remembered the moment he had managed to slip free, _just_ before Filch and his demon cat rounded the corner.

A fond smile broke out on his face, _good times._

Turning his back on the knight, knowing that it would be stepping back to its podium, Harry sucked in a breath as he took stock of the mirror cordon. Or at least, that was what he had taken to calling the area to which the Raven had led him.

He pulled out a hand drawn map from his pocket, glancing at it briefly in irritation. "Worth a shot…" he muttered, tossing it to the side.

The rough layout he had sketched down just a few days previously was completely useless now. The hallways and rooms had rearranged once again.

A chirp had him glancing up to the buzzard that was eyeing the piece of paper, and Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not _littering_ , it's conjured parchment you stupid bird."

An accusing stare met his claim, and Harry shook his head in exasperation. Ignoring the avian, he turned his attention back to the mirror cordon. _I don't think I'll be able to find it before breakfast…_ The sun had yet to rise. There was still an hour or so of darkness left. _I could just skip it, I doubt anyone will notic-_

He suddenly froze.

The fine hairs on the back of Harry's neck pricked up as his ears twitched, registering the faint rattling of chains and the slithering hiss of steel against steel. He turned around, brows furrowed in confusion.

The suit of armour was standing in the _middle_ of the hallway, staring at him.

-and it had drawn its sword.

A moment of silence stretched between them, broken only by Tremblay's uneasy shifting as she fluttered to Harry's shoulder. Harry felt goosebumps rippling up the skin on his arms. Not once had he seen a suit of-

The knight suddenly _sprinted_ at him.

Flinching in alarm, Harry threw up his wand and rapped out a flurry of impediment jinxes, eyes widening as the magic seemed to almost slough off the oncoming suit of armour like water. A blasting curse, followed by two wild stunners flew down the hallway only to meet the same ineffective fate.

A familiar voice echoed through his head. _**Run.**_

And Harry _ran_ , deeper and deeper into the mirror cordon as the clanking mass of rusted metal chased him with a berserker's fervour. A hollow noise began to seep from the holes chiseled into it's faceplate, like the moaning of a wounded animal except pitched and warped to oblivion.

Tremblay took off with a screech as Harry barrelled through the hallways, not knowing where the _hell_ he was going as he pushed through doors and corridors with a racing heart. He slammed every door behind him, quickly charming them with the strongest locking charm he could manage without stopping.

Even still-

' _Crash!'_

His pursuer just burst straight through them, longsword reversed into a mordhau grip as the blade's tip had broken long ago. The construct was using it more like a damned _mace_ now.

Which was by far more terrifying.

Tremblay whipped by his head as they turned into another intersection, screeching loudly to garner his attention. He turned his head, and saw what she had seen. A knight stood on its podium halfway down the hall, however it was only after Tremblay's frantic squawking did he take a closer look.

His eyes widened.

At the far end of the left most corridor lay a raised gate of some kind. Thick black iron sat perched above a doorway, just _aching_ to be dropped via the chain pulley system beside it.

"I see it," he affirmed to the buzzard, just as the rogue knight smashed through the last wooden door that separated it from Harry. It's empty helm turned to regard the interloper, unphased as a cutting curse splashed harmlessly across its breastplate, despite the deep crevasse was carved into the wall behind it.

It took a step forwards, and promptly lurched as its foot _sunk_ into the stone floor. Teeth made of weathered rock began to claw up the knight's leg, seeking to swallow the suit of armour whole.

Harry didn't stick around to see the effects of the spell Quirrel had taught him, which was fortunate, for it took only a single violent pull from construct to rip its leg free and resume it's chase.

There was a good distance between them, at least a hundred meters. He could easily make it to the other end.

And yet… It's heavy footsteps were growing louder… and _loude-_

' _CRASH!'_

The clatter of metal and chains falling to the floor reached Harry's ears, and he turned to find the knight splattered across the ground in an array of rusted steel. Pieces of armour had scattered across the ground, inanimate once more.

Harry slowed, chest heaving and brows narrowed in confusion. What had happened?

The air grew cold around him as the shadows in the corners of the hall deepened. A rush of wind blew past him towards the portcullis.

_**Don't… stop!** _

The harsh whisper jolted Harry back into action, and he turned back aroun-

He froze.

Stepping from its podium, helmed head jittering unnaturally as _something_ seeped into the gaps of its armour, the knight at the far end of the corridor took up its halberd.

An air of hopelessness fell upon Harry as the entity's gaze locked onto him.

_This can't be real…_

His wand flashed in arcs of motion, and Harry watched grimly as his spells were once again, _useless._ Offering Quirrel's replacement wand an irritated stare, he sheathed the damned thing. _I would have had better luck with a stick off the ground..._

_**No retreat…** _

The words echoed in his head, and Harry shivered. Was that true? His eyes fell on the carcass of the previous knight. Would the suit of armour behind him come to life if he turned back?

_**Forwards… unto madness.** _

"Forwards unto madness…" Harry murmured. Why did those words seem so familiar?

Subconsciously, he drew the broken spear from his belt.

Tremblay landed on his shoulder, and Harry could feel her fear. His jaw tightened. _How do I keep finding myself in these positions?_

Nevertheless, he stroked the buzzard's beak calmingly. "We have to get past it somehow," he informed, unsure of whether he was telling himself or the bird.

Tremblay shifted, uncomfortable with the idea. "You go ahead," Harry ordered. Tremblay hesitated, unwilling to leave his side, but Harry shifted her on his arm and pushed her off into the air, ignoring her affronted squawk. " _Go_ , you stupid bird... and fly high."

Tremlbay took off, soaring up towards the roof, however the rogue knight paid her no mind. It's empty gaze was levelled only on Harry.

 _Figures,_ Harry muttered inwardly.

He was offered no time to ponder as the knight advanced. _Slowly,_ this time. It's halberd was held across its front, and Harry felt morbidly like a prisoner who was watching his own executioner approach.

_**One chance…** _

Harry sneered. _I'm well aware._

The broken spearhead hummed in his palm, and Harry glanced down, surprised. _God… i'm not 'that' stupid am I?_

Unfortunately for him, he decided that he was as he brought the damaged weapon to bear.

"This is insane…" he whispered.

His muscles bunched up, ready to make a break for it-

_**Not yet.** _

Harry paused, unsure of why he did. It wasn't time yet. How he knew that, he could not say.

The construct stepped ever closer, it's heavy greaves carving scuff marks against the weathered stone floor of Hogwarts. It was terrifyingly close now. Harry could smell the faint scent of aged metal in the air.

_**Wait…** _

The halberd shifted in the rogue knight's grip, it's chipped edge carving a ragged line through the air as it readied it's weapon.

_**Now!** _

His body moved, _forwards,_ despite the madness of it.

The sound of something whistling through the air, and a flash of something jet-black over the knight's shoulder had Harry's eyes widening in alarm.

Two powerful talons crept over the bascinet visor of the construct as _Tremblay_ emerged from behind, yanking on it's helmet. Seeing his opportunity, Harry swept low, engraved spearhead lunging for the knight's lower flank. Hissing over his head, the staked tip of the halberd missed by a hair's breadth thanks to Tremblay's efforts.

Expecting the jarring slam of steel against steel, Harry was wholly unprepared as the spearhead _carved_ through the knight's knee like a hot knife through butter. The thing buckled beneath its weight for but a moment, and Harry _ran_.

"Tremblay!" he shouted, and the bird abandoned it's attack immediately, zipping to his side as they made for the portcullis.

The heavy sound of clanging steel dogged their mad dash.

Drawing his wand, Harry dove beneath the portcullis and whipped a hasty flourish in the air as he aimed back towards the pulley system. " _Carpe rostrum ruptor!_ " The sharp chirping of a sparrow flared to life, the sound emanating from Harry's wand. Firing from its tip, a tiny auburn bird made of pure magic shot through the air like a bullet, twirling and pirouetting before spearing directly into and _through_ the thick links of chain that held the gate raised.

The portcullis fell with a heavy groan, slamming into the ground just as the knight collided head-on into the blackened iron. Harry watched with a bated breath as the entire gate shuddered, some of the metal even bending ever so slightly…

But it held.

A laboured breath seeped from his lips as he sat up from where he was sprawled across the floor. Tremblay nipped at his shirt, urging him to his feet.

Harry nodded, although couldn't help but stare at the construct, which was watching him through the gaps in the bars. Slowly, as if a lion was trying not to spook a mouse, the rogue suit of armour lowered its helmed head towards the bars.

It pressed its visor against the metal, almost as if to get a better look _._

The flutter of small wings hit Harry's ears, followed by the familiar tweet of a songbird.

"Harry?"

Flinching at the unexpected voice, Harry turned to find Quirrel emerging into the hallway from behind him, wand raised. The tracking charm that the man had used on him all throughout Alexandria, in the form of the little sparrow, came to land on Harry's shoulder.

"Good grief, what on earth are you doing in this random neck of the castle, and so early at that?" Quirrel asked, as if he hadn't yet noticed the rusted suit of armour leering at Harry on the other side of the gate.

Harry stared dumbfounded at Quirrel, "I… I was just…" he trailed off, turning back towards the knig-

It was gone.

There was nothing there. Even the dent in the iron gate had vanished.

"W-what?"

Quirrel came to a stop beside him, his swirling silks brushing against Harry. "What is it?"

Harry gestured to the portcullis, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he shook his head. "I… the chains on that thing just snapped as I passed under it," he lied.

Quirrel perked a brow at him, before raising his wand and levitating the gate up. Harry bit down on his tongue. It would be a _damned_ shame if the _thing_ reappeared.

Thankfully, the construct remained mysteriously absent as Quirrel mended the severed chains with another twirl of his wand. "Unusual… it almost looks like it was _cut_."

Harry didn't reply. Quirrel had a tendency of voiding his suspicions by coming up with plausible excuses of his own-

"Though without a doubt that would have been the sound I heard just a minute ago." He shook his head, tutting as he reached down and pulled Harry to his feet with a gloved hand. "I wouldn't disregard the notion of a doxy infestation or two up here, the Seventh floor is very seldom used. That fool of a caretaker 'Filch' needs to take his duties a little more seriously."

Harry sighed internally. _Thanks for the save, mate._ "Come to think of it, I did smell sulphur earlier," he muttered, racking his brain for whatever information on doxies he could recall.

Quirrel sniffed, "Vile pests…" he then turned to Harry. "Back to my earlier question - what were you doing?"

Harry shrugged, gesturing to Tremblay who had perched on his shoulder and was glaring dangerously at the oblivious little bird who had claimed the opposite spot. "Alessandra told me that Buzzards are capable of finding magical artefacts."

It wasn't _entirely_ a lie. Alessandra _had_ told him that, and he _was_ using her to look for a magical artefact.

Quirrel's eyes narrowed, " _Cursed_ magical artefacts, actually." Harry suddenly found a nearby painting of incredible curiosity, and Quirrel shook his head in exasperation. "Did you not manage to sate your curiosity in Alexandria?"

"Well that was hardly my fault."

"Oh?"

"Of course! _I_ wasn't the idiot running around smacking load-bearing pillars with a bloody great big ax-"

Quirrel cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Yes, yes. Point taken," he muttered. Shaking his head once more, he sighed and gestured for Harry to follow. "Very well, come on then."

Harry blinked, looking back towards the mirror cordon. Was he going mad? Did he really want to go back in there?

It took all of half a second to realise that… _yes,_ he did. Very much so. The mystery, the danger, the sheer curiosity that was pulling at every fibre in his body was demanding that he return. There were so many questions that needed answers…

The paper raven, the mirror, the rogue knight, the everchanging cordo-

Harry swallowed thickly, _what the hell is wrong with me?_

Quirrel was a terrible influence. The man had awoken some ridiculously dangerous, adrenalin seeking junkie in him...

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, trying to distract himself. "And why are _you_ here?"

Quirrel gave him a curious look over his shoulder as they walked. "To my office, and maybe because I was looking for you? Why else would I be here?"

"Yes, but why are you looking for me specifically?"

"To give you detention for breaking curfew, perhaps?" Quirrel laughed as Harry shot him a deadpan glare. "Your dittany oil has finished curing."

Harry cocked a brow, "Is that it?"

"I guess there's also the matter of continuing your lessons." At Harry's surprised look, Quirrel smiled innocently. "You didn't think your apprenticeship was over, did you? Six sharp at my office every morning from here on out."

Harry felt a little piece of himself die inside.

* * *

Harry slipped through the door to the classroom just moments before it was pushed closed, and he found himself suddenly staring at a black-trim set of expensive robes at an awfully close distance. Dark, beady eyes stared down at him in an unreadable expression, with thin lips pursing in displeasure.

"Uh, morning, Professor-"

"A second later and you would have broken both your nose, and the record for the fastest detention after the start of a school year," Snape sneered. "A shame that either did not come to pass."

Harry didn't quite have a reply for that, and the Potions Master sniffed imperiously. "Well, are you going to stand there gawking like some luddite, or take your seat like a civilised individual, _Potter_?"

Wordlessly, Harry slid around Snape and made for his seat, ignoring the eyes on him. He tried as best he could to disguise his heaving lungs and aching musculature. _Damned Quirrel…_ the lunatic had brought back several _tonnes_ of 'gifts' of the granular variety from Alexandria for Harry to 'play with'.

_If he makes me levitate any more sand, I might go and set every beach I can find on fire…_

Curiously, he found his usual spot by the front, leftmost corner of the classroom occupied. As he passed by Granger and Weasley at the closest desk, his curiosity was alleviated somewhat.

"Believe me, this wasn't my idea," Vaisey muttered as Harry took his seat next to him.

Greengrass also glanced away, crossing her legs as she turned her attention to Snape who had taken to the front of the class once again. "Neither was it mine," she sniffed. "This is an awful spot, Potter, you can barely see the teacher's desk from this angle."

"That's kind of the point," Harry mumbled, setting up his workspace and placing Delilah's book close at hand. The French witch's pre-written lectures, diagrams and teaching far outstripped whatever drivel Madame Oliphont spouted. _Speaking of… where is she, and why is Snape here?_

Rosier sighed, interrupting his thoughts, "Obviously, it was my idea," she said. "You'd think it would be nice to get to know each other if we're going to be stuck living with one another, no?"

"In the middle of Potions, Rosier? Are you itching for a date with dirty cauldrons, or do they make a habit of raising idiots over there in France?"

Harry bit down on his lip to stifle his smile as he flipped his textbook open. Vaisey's dry bluntness was quite a talent.

The remark did bring up an interesting point however, and Harry couldn't help but sneak a glance at the dark-haired witch across from him. Considering the Rosier family's involvement during the war against the Dark Lord, one would think it mad to see her sharing his table.

Unless she was from a different branch of the family altogether due to a certain… _lack_ of the main family's presence in Britain.

James Potter was not known as the 'attack dog' of the ICW for no reason.

Harry imagined that there was quite the chuffed grin hidden behind a veneer of crocodile tears as the disregarded French branch moved into their new ancestral home.

Breaking out of his musings as Rosier's brows narrowed at the Beater, Harry coughed lightly. "He's got a point, however. We could have caught up over breakfast or something."

"Oh? The one _both_ of you were absent for?"

Harry cocked a brow at Greengrass' remark. Looking away from her as she eyed him curiously, obviously expecting an answer, Harry instead nudged Vaisey. "Where were you?"

"Skipping around the lake with a basket full of daisies, obviously."

Harry rolled his eyes, a reply on his tongue just as a loud _'bang!'_ rang out from the raised stage. Snape had slammed down the year's textbook, leaning forwards over the brewing station. The torches flickering in their wrought iron sconces dimmed, as if they too were unnerved by the Potions Master.

"Before the meagre lumps of flesh you call your 'brains' burst from inquiry, let me state that: _no_ , I will _not_ be teaching your class this year," Snape drawled, leaning back and folding his arms. "Madame Oliphont became indisposed over the Summer, indefinitely.

Harry _heard_ rather than saw Granger's arm shoot up in question, and with great difficulty did Snape drag his eyes over to her.

" _What_?"

"Sorry Professor, but Madame Oliphont had organised a project over the Summer that several people in this class partook in, did she forward her reviews, by any chance?"

Snape snorted softly, "No," he replied. As Granger's features fell, he shrugged. "Though perhaps you could go and see if she still has them? You'll need a shovel, and perhaps a pry bar to get to her."

Granger blanched, and the class seemed to recoil at the revelation of what Snape had truly meant by 'indisposed'.

Vaisey's quiet chuckles had both girls turning to eye him incredulously.

"Seriously?" Rosier whispered.

Vaisey shrugged, trying to smother his smirk. "Come on, that was pretty good."

 _Snape certainly thinks so,_ Harry noted inwardly, seeing the Potion's Professor's lips twitch as Granger's hand sunk quickly back to her side.

Satisfied with the resounding silence, Snape flicked his wand over towards the blackboard, revealing the term's study curriculum. With some intrigue, Harry noted that Strengthening Solutions and Everlasting Elixirs were on the list. Delilah had already gone over them with him in great detail, expecting them to appear in his classes some point soon.

His thumb tapped the edge of her book as he sat back, satisfied. _What would I do without you, Miss Histwood?_

Harry tuned back in as Snape made a vague gesture towards what _used_ to be Madame Oliphont's desk. "Whilst Dumbledore searches for a replacement teacher, _I_ will be forced to stand in." Smartly, not a single sound was made in response to that. "As during your very first year, I expect nothing but excellence whilst you are in my presence. I will not tolerate ineptitude, despite how large the amount of it you all have in abundance to give." Snape took a second to scan the classroom, and Harry was reminded of a vulture looking for a carcass to feast upon. "Textbooks to page forty-seven, we begin with study preparation for the Draught of Peace."

The sound of multiple leather backed books flipping open filled the room.

"For the record," Harry heard Rosier whisper, not looking up from her page. "I did _not_ think to expect Professor Snape when I suggested this."

Harry ignored both Snape and Rosier, flipping open Delilah's book instead. The paper raven weighed heavily in his pocket, and there was only one source of information he could tap into without fear of being questioned.

Vaisey glanced over to where Snape was writing instructions on the board, and shrugged. "That's a fair point."

"Yes, it is," Harry mumbled, eager to get them to stop talking. "Our apologies."

Their surprise from the other end of the table almost had him snorting in amusement, but he quelled it as he scribbled into the book, waiting expectantly. _Balls, is she having breakfast or someth-_

' _Oh, good morning! I thought you would be in class?'_

Harry grinned.

' _I am.'_

' _Harry…'_

' _Say… what do you know of magically resistant and or immune entities?'_

There was a pause, before he felt the pages shudder beneath his palm.

' _What on earth?'_

' _Humour me.'_ Another pause. _'Your hair looks great today, by the way.'_

' _Merde… very well. Let me go and get my books.'_


End file.
